


No Man Alone

by br0wncoat



Series: Sniper Bros [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Clint and Bucky BFFs, Domestic Avengers, M/M, PTSD, Protective Bucky, Veteran Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 64,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/br0wncoat/pseuds/br0wncoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've seen a lot of posts on tumblr about Bucky being so irritated with the way Steve keeps throwing himself off high places with no regard for his safety, and I thought, what if Bucky's never met Steve, but he's just some injured former soldier who watches the Avengers on the news, and he keeps thinking, "Jesus, this Captain America asshole really needs someone to watch his back." And then this story happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky watches the Battle of New York from a lumpy hospital bed in Walter Reed, his neck aching as he peers up at the television bolted to the wall. The last week has been a blur - Afghanistan to Landstuhl to Bethesda, sand and blood and pain to white sheets and bandages. He's not 100% sure that what he's seeing isn't some kind of drug-induced hallucination, because at that point he's still on the good stuff.

Even overseas they'd caught the news about the giant green monster rampaging through Harlem, and of course everyone knows Tony Stark, but it's the man in red, white and blue that catches his attention. At first, he assumes they've just shoved some new guy into the costume, but halfway through the action the man loses his mask. Bucky did a report on Captain America in eighth grade, requiring a lot of digging through old posters and film reels, and he'd know that face anywhere. Not to mention that he'd just been discovering sex, and all those spandex-clad muscles had done a lot to help him figure out that he was an equal opportunity kind of guy.

The point is, after asking two different nurses and the nutritionist who delivers his afternoon serving of slop, he's pretty sure that a) he's not hallucinating, and b) that really is Captain America out there. The reporters - and he still hasn't decided if these guys are brave or just dumbasses - are in the thick of it, filming from behind overturned cars or in circling helicopters, and it's almost like watching an action movie. It's probably kind of ridiculous that he's more hung up on Steve Rogers than the alien whatevers trying to destroy New York, but it's hard to reconcile his black-and-white memories with this version in living color. If Gary Cooper wandered into his hospital room and told him to stick 'em up, it wouldn't be any more surreal. "Quit pushin' me, Harv. I'm tired of being pushed."

"What was that, Sergeant Barnes?"

A nurse pokes her head through his open door, and he realizes he's spoken aloud. Maybe the drugs are still affecting him, after all. "Uh, just talking to the television there," he lies, gesturing with his good arm. (His _only_ arm, but that's not a thought he's allowing himself just yet.) The nurse eyes him suspiciously but leaves, and he turns back to the news.

Iron Man and some giant dude with a hammer (Bucky peers at his IV bag, because what the hell?) are providing air support, and they clearly have a damn good sniper, though none of the reporters have managed to catch a shot of him. The green guy seems to be smashing things indiscriminately, leaving Cap and a slender red-headed woman in control on the ground. The cops have mostly given up on fighting in favor of crowd control, and Bucky has to wonder why they haven’t called in the goddamn National Guard or something, because six people against an alien invasion is … not going well.

Then the woman performs some improbable gymnastics and gets carried away on the back of one of the flying aliens, leaving Captain America on the ground _all by himself_ , and Bucky bolts upright, dislodging his IV and setting various monitors to shrieking. “What are you doing, you idiot?” he shouts as Cap barrels through a group of aliens, his shield held in front like a battering ram. “Have none of you people ever heard of teamwork?” Iron Man swoops in just as Cap’s about to be overwhelmed, plucking him off the ground and zooming away. The camera darts around shakily, losing sight of him for a moment before catching a flash of blue atop what looks like a ten-story building. One of the big whale-looking things is heading straight for it, and the captain takes a running leap and dives off the building.

Bucky throws the remains of his lunch at the television just as the nurses arrive to sedate him.

So, Bucky misses the end of the battle, but in the weeks that follow, he keeps track of the progress in rebuilding New York. The group of heroes, who have been dubbed the Avengers, have apparently all stuck around to help with the cleanup, and when the news isn’t covering the rebuilding they’re talking about the reappearance of Captain America. Bucky distracts himself from two surgeries and the realization that yes, he now only has one arm, collecting every bit of information on Cap that he can. Every time he’s tempted to feel sorry for himself, he thinks of the poor bastard being on ice for 70 years, and suddenly his own hurts aren’t so bad.

One month after losing his arm, Bucky leaves Maryland and moves into a one-bedroom shithole not far from his old neighborhood in Brooklyn. He’d always felt a sense of pride, knowing that he and Captain America grew up less than a mile (if half a century) apart, and he’ll swear ‘til the day he dies that knowing Cap is back has nothing to do with him moving home. By all accounts, the Avengers have moved in with Stark (and seriously, Bucky would kill to see what that’s like), so it’s not like Cap’s going to turn up next door.

Bucky unpacks his single duffel bag full of clothes, pays a cabbie to lug his new television up the stairs, and resumes his superhero-watching, doing his best to ignore the nagging question of what the hell he’s going to do with his life.

On Bucky’s third day in his new home, the Avengers are called to reassemble.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Quit pushin' me" is a quote from High Noon, starring Gary Cooper.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky's sprawled on his ugly floral couch, a sandwich in his hand and General Hospital on the television, when the news breaks in. At first he's pissed, because he wants to know whether Luke's just insane or has an evil doppelganger, and if this is some bullshit political scandal again - But it cuts directly to a shot straight out of Mad Max, a decaying factory in the midst of an urban wasteland. The crawl at the bottom of the screen helpfully displays the name of some Eastern European state he's never heard of. 

He blinks at the screen in confusion, because nothing really seems to be happening, and then one wall of the factory explodes outward. The falling rubble obscures part of the view, but it's pretty hard to miss the Hulk, covered in a thin layer of plaster dust and dragging two yellow-clad bodies behind him, one in each hand.

Bucky sits up straighter. This is the first time he's seen the Avengers in action since New York. Stark and Cap had done some interviews, and there was plenty of footage from the recovery efforts, but as far as Bucky knows this is only their second battle as a team. (And he has to wonder how the news people got there so fast. Was there a leak somewhere, or was it some kind of PR stunt?) Although, Bucky thinks, "team" might be overstating things a bit. The yellow suits start to pour through the Hulk-sized hole like rats from a sinking ship, and the rest of the Avengers are nowhere to be seen. Do they just let the Hulk run around smashing things willy-nilly? Are there any brains behind this operation?

Iron Man bursts though the opening, arms waving madly, and Bucky starts to have a very bad feeling. The reporter, who apparently thinks he's a goddamn Navy SEAL and is all but dangling from a helo, informs the audience that Iron Man has advised civilians to retreat to a safe distance, as he's just activated a bomb. Bucky sighs. Moments later, Captain America runs out with a woman in his arms, this one not dressed in yellow but a lab coat, hands her off to Stark, and then turns and darts back in.

Bucky's hand clenches, and mustard and tomato seeds squirt all over his jeans. "Why would you - what is the matter with you?!" He absently wipes off his hand, glaring at the screen. The guy with the hammer and the redhead emerge, dragging a muscular blonde man who seems to be bleeding from the head. Captain America is still nowhere to be seen, and the reporter is in the middle of what Bucky's sure would be a very thrilling countdown if this was a goddamn Bruce Willis movie and not real life.

Suddenly, Cap comes running full-tilt out of the factory, a squirming body thrown over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Run, you asshole!" Bucky shouts, jumping to his feet. Seconds later, the countdown ends and the factory blows, and Bucky's heart gets lodged somewhere in his throat.

There's a blast of static, a long pause, and then, "We're being informed that the Avengers escaped with minor injuries, and the terrorists are being arrested with the help of local authorities as we speak." The reporter signs off, throwing to some analyst in New York.

Bucky collapses back onto the couch, clutching his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap you guys, thanks for the awesome response to the first chapter! I know this one is ridiculously short, but the next will be along quickly. 
> 
> Just to clarify, Tony and Steve have been "volunteered" for all the PR stuff, which is why Bucky doesn't know much about the rest of the Avengers. Plus, he might be a little too fixated on a certain blonde captain to pay close attention. :)


	3. Chapter 3

The thing is, Bucky doesn’t even know why he cares so much. Sure, Cap was something of a childhood hero, and now that Bucky’s a soldier ( _former soldier_ , he thinks bitterly) there’s that respect that comes from shared experience, but it’s not like he actually knows the man. Cap's hot, but so is Tony Stark, in his way, and Bucky's not obsessing over him.

It's possible, although he'd not admit it out loud if there was a gun to his head, that it's a much better distraction than thinking about his own life.

It's the day after the yellow terrorist guys, and Bucky's pacing around his apartment, feeling vaguely disgusted with himself. He's done nothing but watch television and eat food that doesn't require cooking, slobbing around like a teenage boy. He wasn't this bad when he _was_ a teenage boy. He feels like a trapped animal, being taunted by the peeling wallpaper and offensive couch while his tormenters wait to see how long until he cracks. The place is all he could afford with his so-called benefits, especially after all the medical bills, but it's hard not to think he deserves a little better than this. He imagines the Avengers living it up in Stark Tower, probably eating caviar out of solid gold bowls, and his pacing turns a little more frantic.

It's just ... before, he'd go out and wander the neighborhood, look for trouble or someone to buy a drink. Maybe go for a nice hard run to pound away his worries. Now the world seems somehow too big and too confining all at once, too many noises to separate the dangerous from the innocuous. He wonders if coming to the city wasn't the best idea, after all. It's not like he knows anyone here these days, and if he's going to be a hermit he could do it somewhere with a better view.

Bucky growls in frustration, shoving his feet into the running shoes he'd left in a heap by the door (the day he moved in, which was also the last time he'd gone out, which is just more evidence of how pathetic this is.) He's faced down worse than a Brooklyn sidewalk. He's been blown up, for Christ's sake. He can go for a goddamn jog.

He thumps down the stairs and onto the street, realizing belatedly that it's freezing outside and he's wearing a thin t-shirt. And jeans, which are really not optimal running attire, but fuck it. A half mile later, he comes to a couple more unwelcome conclusions. 1) He's seriously out of shape. Like, a month of convalescing with little-to-no activity beyond physical therapy out of shape. And 2) It's pretty fucking awkward trying to run with one arm. He's gotten used to walking around feeling all off-balance, but something about trying to pump his arms while he's running and only having the one respond is messed up. _He's_ messed up, and he's having trouble breathing even after stopping to rest in the mouth of some grimy alley, and holy shit he's having a panic attack.

It'd happened once before, in the hospital right after he'd found out about the arm. He'd been sure he was having a heart attack at first, a vice around his chest and sweat pouring off his brow, his breath coming in harsh pants. The doctor had given him a shot of something to calm him down. Since then, he's been practicing some hardcore denial, refusing to talk about prosthetics or therapists or any of that bullshit. Right about now, though, he'd kill for one of those shots.

He bends over, bracing his hand on his knee and trying to breathe. He's pretty sure he's supposed to be thinking calming thoughts and counting breaths or something, but he hadn't really paid much attention to all that stuff, and yeah ... denial. Officially biting him in the ass.

"Hey, man," a voice says from behind him.

He whirls around, reaching for a weapon that isn't there. He wonders for a half second whether he could take the man with his fists, and oh yeah, one arm! He laughs a bit hysterically, covering his face with his hand. He thinks he might be crying a little, and he doesn't even give a shit. Let the guy mug him; he doesn't have his wallet on him. He's not sure he even remembered his keys.

"It's okay; I swear I'm not, like, a thief or a serial killer or something," the guy says. Bucky peeks through his fingers to see the man standing in a non-threatening pose, open palms held up in front of him. "I just thought you might need some help."

Bucky wipes his face and forces himself to straighten and look at the stranger. He's a little older than Bucky, a little shorter, but considerably more muscular. Blonde and blue-eyed, attractive in a non-conventional way. Something about his bearing makes Bucky think military or law enforcement, and he wonders if that's why the man approached him.

"Take a couple deep breaths for me, okay?" Blonde Dude asks. "Nice and slow. You know where you are?"

"Brooklyn," Bucky grits out. He wants to be pissed at this guy for intruding, for seeing his weakness, but honestly he was about five seconds away from losing it. He takes the deep breaths, and the pain in his chest eases a little.

"Got it in one. I was about to write the place off as overrated, to be honest." Blonde Dude rolls his eyes. "Only so many hipsters a man can stand in one day. But a friend of mine grew up around here and swore that I had to come check out this one deli that's been around since like the 1880s, because it would change my life. You from around here?"

Bucky's so thrown by the rambling that all he can do is stare for a moment, before saying, "Yes?" It comes out like a question, because he's so friggin' confused, but the man just nods.

"Well hey, maybe you can point me toward this mind-blowing deli." He somehow herds Bucky onto the sidewalk without actually touching him, and Bucky just follows. He's at a loss for what else to do, and since so he's no longer in the process of losing his shit, he does sort of owe the guy. "I'm deeply suspicious of pastrami, but I've been assured it's the only way to go. You can show me how the natives do it." He looks over his shoulder at Bucky, who's still trailing obediently, and grins. "My name's Clint, by the way. What's yours?" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know what it's like to only have one arm, but I do know all about anxiety and panic attacks, and how you can feel so stupid for freaking out about the smallest things. I didn't exactly intend to go down this angsty road, but I needed to get Bucky out of his apartment and then I got to thinking that it'd probably be pretty stressful for him. Stupid realism, intruding on my story. :)


	4. Chapter 4

"Bleh!" Clint bites into his sandwich and makes a face of such intense disgust that Bucky bursts out laughing. Clint makes a production of shoving his plate away and taking a long drink of soda before speaking. "I can't even ... it's like there's an oil slick on my tongue. A very peppery oil slick."

Bucky snickers. To be honest, he's not a huge fan of pastrami either, but Clint's over-the-top reactions are hilarious. He suspects that it's at least partly an act, intended to put him at ease. There are shadows in Clint's eyes and a stiffness to his shoulders that belie the affable joker act, and Bucky hasn't forgotten how easily he recognized a man on the edge. Still, it's working.

The deli turned out to be not far from the site of Bucky's breakdown, and though he'd never been there himself they found it easily enough with the help of Clint's phone. Clint had chatted all the way down the street, through the ordering process, and into their seats, and Bucky found it easy to just let the words wash over him and relax. He's been picking at his own sandwich (which Clint had insisted on buying for him, loudly drowning out Bucky's protests), his stomach still too turbulent to eat.

"So," Clint says. He's slouched carelessly in his chair, but there's an intensity to his eyes that makes Bucky sit up straight. "You lose that arm in the military?"

Bucky blinks at him. He hasn't really dealt with people who don't already know what happened to him, and the thought of explaining makes the words turn to ash on his tongue. He manages a nod.

"Sucks, man," Clint says.

His tone is conversational, totally lacking in pity, and somehow exactly what Bucky needs. He's had it with bullshit sympathy from people who can't ever understand.

"What about you?" Bucky asks. "Some kind of cop?"

Clint makes a seesawing gesture with his hand. "Not exactly. I guess you could say I'm sort of an independent contractor. But ... " He starts shredding a napkin, avoiding Bucky's eyes. "I don't wanna overstep, but I've been there. I walked by that alley and it could've been me standing there, ya know? I just got lucky, had some good friends to watch my back."

Bucky frowns. "So this is, what, you spreading the gift of charity?"

Clint scoffs. "Nah. This is me saying you look like you could use a friend, and I'm a friendly guy." 

Bucky pokes at his cold fries. He had some Army buddies, but no one he's kept in touch with since being shipped home. He has no idea how normal people go about making friends. "How d'you know you want to be my friend? I could be some kinda weirdo. Maybe _I'm_ the one who's the serial killer thief." 

Clint laughs. "You seem all right to me." He gives Bucky a considering look and adds, "And if it comes down to it, I think I could take you." Bucky stares at him, wide-eyed, and Clint cackles. "Plus, I can be kind of a dick, and you seem pretty grumpy, so I think we'll get along just fine. So, hand over your phone, and I'll put my number in. Next time you can call me before you try to run yourself to death." 

Bucky hesitates, and Clint raises an eyebrow. "What? This is not me hitting on you, I promise. I'm spoken for, and anyway I'd be much smoother."

"I ... don't have a phone," Bucky admits. He realizes that everyone and their eight-year-old has a cell phone these days, but it just hadn't been high on his list of priorities. Probably he'd have gotten around to it one day when the craving for takeout became too much.

"How can you ... Okay." Clint shakes his head. "Tell me your address, then. I can pop in and make sure you're still alive." 

Bucky obliges, although, "This is very strange, you know."

Clint shrugs. "I'm a strange guy." 

They part soon after, and Bucky heads home, befuddled but feeling lighter than he has since first waking up in a hospital bed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does two chapters in one day make up for them being so short?
> 
> I'm so glad you guys were happy to see Clint. I thought for sure you'd break out the pitchforks because it wasn't Steve. :)


	5. Chapter 5

It’s raining. The gloom outside turns afternoon to premature dark, and Bucky watches water run down his bare windowpane in rivulets. There’s no light in the apartment but the flickering glow of his ever-playing television, tuned to some show about cupcakes that Bucky’s only half-watching.

He likes the rain. He remembers it used to make him antsy as a kid, not being able to go outside and play, but now it’s soothing. So different from the hot sun and dry sand, so much easier to avoid getting lost in painful memories. These days, he’s full of excuses to avoid going outside.

There’s a sudden rapid knock at his door, and it startles him so badly that he’s on his feet before his brain registers leaving the couch. He’s frozen halfway to the door, wondering if he should answer. The landlord, maybe, or someone trying to deliver a package to the wrong door. The knock comes again.

“Bucky? It’s Clint. You alive in there, man?”

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. Clint had told him he’d stop by to visit, and it’s not like there are going to be terrorists knocking on his goddamn door. _Get a grip, Barnes_. He flings the door open to find Clint standing in the hallway, looking like a drowned rat. He snorts.

“Yeah, laugh it up, buddy,” Clint says. He shakes his head like a dog, flinging water droplets into Bucky’s face. “It’s like a monsoon out there. I got this wet just between the cab and your door.” He sticks out one sneaker-clad foot for inspection, and Bucky can see it’s soaked through.

Bucky steps aside, gesturing Clint into the apartment. He takes the minute while Clint’s struggling out of his shoes to glance around, hoping there’s nothing too embarrassing lying about. Not like he owns that much stuff to begin with, but he can’t absolutely swear there’s no underwear on the floor. Luckily it’s pretty clean, apart from the morning’s dishes piled in the sink.

“Here, give me those.” Bucky wiggles his fingers at Clint’s shoes, perching them on top of the radiator when Clint hands them over. That done, he’s exhausted his ideas on what the hell to do with someone else in his apartment. “You, uh, want a drink or something? I don’t really know how to do this host thing.”

Clint laughs. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m shit company. If I want a drink, I’ll just go get it myself.” He flops down on Bucky’s couch, peering at the television. “Cupcake Wars, huh? Can’t say I really pictured you as a baker.”

Bucky hovers awkwardly. He’s only got the one piece of furniture, and he wonders if it would be weird to sit next to Clint. His concept of personal space has pretty much been non-existent since joining the military, but probably some guys don’t like other guys crammed onto a couch with them, and Jesus, when did everything get so complicated?

“Hey,” Clint says, patting the cushion next to him. “Sit down, will ya? You’re making _me_ nervous. I’m not gonna bite.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says gruffly, perching on the edge of the couch. He toys with the fraying knee of his jeans, wondering if he owes it to Clint to explain. “I went straight from my ma’s house to a college dorm to military barracks, and this is the first time I’ve actually lived alone.” And it’s easier to blame that than his general inability to be part of the human race these days.

Clint turns to him, tucking his socked feet under his knees. “You went to college before you joined the military?” he asks, giving Bucky that _are you crazy_ look that he’s all too familiar with.

“Yes,” Bucky says stiffly. He’d taken enough shit about this from his family back then, and he’s really not eager to rehash it.

Clint, apparently realizing he’s stepped in it, says apologetically, “Sorry. Touchy subject? It’s cool, just unusual. Don’t most people do it the other way around?”

Bucky sighs. He’s got no right to take his issues out on Clint, who doesn’t know better. “I just … I had this argument with my mom, when I decided to join. She thought it was a waste, that I was just going to run off and get killed. I was in my second year of school when 9/11 happened, and I dropped out to join the Army. I just felt like … it was the right thing to do, you know?” He glances over at Clint, who’s smiling. “What?”

“Nothing,” Clint says. “Just, you remind me a lot of someone else I know. So you never finished?”

“Yeah, I actually completed my degree when I was overseas. Online, you know. Not that it’s doing me a lot of good right now,” Bucky says bitterly.

“I bet your mom’s proud, though, right?” Clint asks.

He’s so clearly trying to cheer Bucky up that Bucky feels bad for saying, “Nah, she … she died before I finished it. Cancer. We’d gotten to a point where we were talking some, but I don’t think she ever really understood.”

“Shit,” Clint mutters. “Just punch me the next time I try to start a conversation, okay?”

Bucky’s startled into a laugh. “It’s fine. You’re the only one I really have conversations with these days, so … “

“Well, I think it’s great,” Clint says. “I mean, I didn’t even finish high school, so I think that’s pretty impressive.” Seeing Bucky’s questioning look, he adds, “I grew up in a circus. Yes, really. And no, it was not at all cool.”

“Huh,” Bucky says. He knows a landmine when he sees one, so he casts around for a way to change the conversation. “So, Cupcake Wars? I mean, talk about not looking like a baker. At least I didn’t know the name of the show,” he teases.

“Eh, my partner is a big fan of reality television. He says he gets enough drama from work, and he likes to come home and watch something mindless.” Clint makes a face. “It kind of makes me want to poke my eyes out, but what can you do?”

Bucky chews on his lip, hung up on the word ‘partner.’ Probably Clint means someone at his not-quite-a-cop job, but … “Like, a work partner?”

Clint grins. “Well, that too, sort of. But he says we’re too old to be boyfriends and he’ll kill me if I ever call him my lover in public.”

He says it like it’s no big deal, and Bucky, who’s been celibate longer than he cares to think about and hiding his true orientation for even longer than that, can only stare.

“Is that a problem?” Clint asks, his smile dimming.

“No!” Bucky nearly shouts. He winces. “I mean, no, not a problem at all.” He wonders if he’s supposed to say _me too_ , since it’s apparently sharing time, but he’d really like to stick with less complicated topics for a while.

Clint gives him a considering look. “Good. So what do you say we turn this shit off and try to find a movie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I can't not ship Clint and Coulson, even in a fic that's supposed to be about Bucky.
> 
> Bucky's background is different in the comics and the movies, and so I just decided to make up my own. 
> 
> Now that we've had sharing time, I'll get back to more protective Bucky in the next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint makes himself at home, snatching the remote and flipping through Bucky's meager selection of channels. "This is just shameful, Barnes. How is it that you get the food channel but no sports? No movies?" 

Bucky shrugs. "I mostly leave it on for noise. I spend more time sleeping on this couch than in my bed, and it drowns out all the little” - he flops his hand to encompass the apartment – “building noises.”

Clint laughs. “I hear ya. I have this fan on a table by the bed, and I leave it cranked up just for the steady noise. I mean, I _can_ sleep just about anywhere, but with that fan I’m out like a baby. Drives Phil nuts, though.”

“Phil’s the partner?” Bucky guesses.

“That’s him.” Clint lights up at the thought of him, and it makes something in Bucky’s chest ache. He’s pretty sure no one has ever looked like that because of him.

“And he doesn’t mind you coming here? Hanging out with some strange guy you just met a few days ago?” Bucky asks. He hasn’t wanted to poke too much into Clint’s life. For one thing, he’s not totally convinced that the man’s not into something illegal, with his vague-sounding job. Mostly, he’s enjoying having a friend again, and he doesn’t want to do anything to ruin it. This topic seems safe enough, though.

Something about the question sends Clint into a fit of giggles, and Bucky cocks an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, sorry.” Clint waves him off. “Phil trusts me, and he knows I can take care of myself. We’ve been through a lot together. I think the two of you would get along, actually. I’d bring him with me, but he got hurt not too long ago, and he’s still mostly on bed rest. Which is why I need to get out every now and then, because let me tell you, he’s the world’s worst patient.”

“I know the feeling,” Bucky says ruefully. “I’m pretty sure I made a nurse or two rethink her life plans.”

Clint, who’s been scanning through the channels this whole time, suddenly sits up straight, coming to a stop on a breaking news program.

“ … worst fire this quiet neighborhood has seen in decades,” the newscaster is saying. The video shows a row of townhouses, fully engulfed despite the lingering rain.

Bucky shivers. He decided, about the time he was lying pinned under a burning Humvee, that fire would be the absolute worst way to go. He was lucky enough to avoid any serious burns, though he still has some scars down his left side to show for it.

Clint shoots him a concerned look but doesn’t ask. It’s this – the way that Clint always seems to know when to push and when to let it go, the way he just seems to understand – that has Bucky mostly convinced Clint’s one of the good guys.

“ … receiving word that Captain America has been helping evacuate citizens from their homes,” the reporter continues. They cut to a shot of Cap in his uniform, cowl missing, looking sweaty and a little singed.

Bucky curses, and Clint makes a questioning noise. “That … _dumbass_ ,” Bucky says, gesturing at the screen. “I swear it’s like he has no common sense. Have you ever watched any of their battles on TV?”

“Uh.” Clint looks weirdly constipated, like he’s just dying to say something, but he settles for, “No, not exactly.”

“I don’t know who’s giving orders out there, but someone needs to knock some sense into him,” Bucky rants. “Like that last fight in Bumfuck-istan, with the factory? ‘Let’s just smash down the wall and let all the terrorists escape!’”

Clint looks like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating, and Bucky’s a little worried until he realizes the other man is laughing. Or trying hard not to, to the point his face is all red and there are tears streaming from his eyes.

“What?” Bucky asks a little defensively. He knows he gets too worked up about this, but _someone_ has to.

“Nothing,” Clint gasps. “This is priceless. Please, go on.”

Bucky eyes him suspiciously but continues. “This guy’s the worst, though. He’s always charging in headfirst, no backup. Like this bullshit.” He waves at the television. “Why go there alone? Surely at least one of the other Avengers could be there helping him. Unless he doesn’t think they’d come if he called, in which case I don’t think I’d want to be on that team.”

“Yeah,” Clint says slowly. “Probably they don’t know it’s happening? I mean, if he thought he could handle it alone and didn’t bother calling. It doesn’t seem like the usual kind of thing the Avengers do.”

“You’re right,” Bucky concedes. “I guess they don’t need to wear themselves out on the relatively small stuff, in case of, you know, alien invasions. Which is all the more reason this is so ridiculous.”

Clint wipes his eyes, having downgraded to an occasional chuckle. “You a big Avengers fan?”

“Eh,” Bucky says. “It’s the most action I see these days. I dunno, keeps my mind off other things. And it’s interesting, you know? I’ve spent the last 10 years doing the team thing, and I just can’t imagine operating like these guys. They have a pretty great sniper, from what I can tell” – Clint has a sudden coughing fit, and Bucky whacks him on the back – “but it’s just the one guy, and he can’t watch all their backs at once.”

Clint’s giving him that intense look again. “You’re a sniper, aren’t you?”

“Was,” Bucky grumbles, glaring down at his arm. “How’d you know?”

Clint shrugs. “Call it a lucky guess.” He lowers the volume on the television, where the firefighters seem to have finally gotten things under control. “Tell me more about the Avengers. What would you do differently?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll go ahead and clear this up now, since Bucky's not going to find out for quite some time. Phil is supposed to be doing the Avenger-wrangling, but he's a little busy recovering from being stabbed. That's why they're kind of a disaster right now. I imagine Steve's trying to be the leader but keeps getting into it with Tony, and the rest of them are just like, "Screw this, let's go get some bad guys before we end up killing our teammates."


	7. Chapter 7

Two days after Clint visits his apartment, Bucky is woken from an afternoon nap by a delivery guy knocking on his door. He assures the man that really, he must have the wrong place, because he hasn’t ordered anything. He doesn’t even have the means to order anything, still being without the internet or a telephone. The delivery guy rolls his eyes and shoves a small package at him before trotting off.

So Bucky takes the package inside and throws it on his kitchen counter, eying it warily. It does, in fact, have his name on it, though there’s no return address. He cuts through the approximately 27 layers of tape that are holding the cardboard closed and pulls out a phone.

Not just a phone, but a Stark phone, one that Bucky is pretty sure had just come out the week before in one of those ‘people lined up for a mile to buy a $800 piece of technology the size of his hand’ events he’d seen on the news. Bucky stares at it. The phone just sits there, all shiny and silver and probably losing value by the second just by virtue of resting on his chipped Formica counter.

He digs through the packaging, hoping for some sort of explanation, and uncovers a purple Post-It with a telephone number and ‘CLINT’ scrawled in big, blocky letters. He plugs the phone into its charger, then plops down on the floor next to the only available outlet. He wonders if he’s going to have to buy a table just to keep the phone on. He punches in the numbers.

It rings twice, and then, “You got the phone!” Clint says cheerfully.

This is strange on so many levels that Bucky decides not to think about it. “Yeah, just a minute ago … Are you sure this isn’t you hitting on me?”

Clint laughs. “I hate to break it to you, but I like older men.”

Bucky should probably be saying thank you, but, “Are you insane? This thing probably costs as much as a month of my rent.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint says dismissively. “I know a guy. I couldn’t just leave you there in your rat hole with no phone. It’s not safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” Bucky argues. Although he’s not sure how true that is anymore, the fact that Clint thinks he needs to mother him kind of stings.

“I’m not saying you can’t. But you never know when there might be some kind of emergency, and anyway now I don’t have to trek all the way to Brooklyn just to say hi.” Clint sounds so calm and reasonable that Bucky kind of wants to smack him.

“Fine,” Bucky agrees grudgingly. “I’ll keep the stupid phone.”

“Great!” Clint says. There’s some shouting in the background, and Bucky thinks he catches something about a robot, but that can’t be right. “Uh, I’ve gotta go now. But hey, give me a call and we’ll find something decent for lunch next time, yeah?”

He hangs up, and Bucky sits in the floor staring at his phone, wondering when his life got so weird.

*****

Later that night, Bucky stands in front of his door, shoes and jacket on, wallet, keys and his new phone accounted for. He’s going to go outside, and he’s not going to freak out. He’ll just walk out there like a normal person and do … something. The point is that he _can_. It hadn’t turned out so bad last time, after all.

He heads outside and strolls aimlessly down the street, carefully heading in the opposite direction of his ma’s old house. That’s one thing he’s definitely not up for, and he won’t be able to look at himself in the mirror if he ends up calling Clint in the middle of another panic attack. He peers into storefronts and mentally makes a list of a few restaurants that don’t look bad, and altogether it’s a pretty decent half hour until he realizes someone is following him.

The girl’s good, Bucky’ll give her that. But he’s still kind of on high alert, and it’s cold enough that the streets aren’t too crowded, and he’s spotted that particular head of red hair one too many times while looking back over his shoulder. He just can’t figure out why anyone would be after him. He’d mostly done the kind of work in the Army where no one saw him coming (or lived to tell about it afterward), and that rules out some kind of revenge scenario. Something to do with Clint, then? Maybe he’s into something shady after all.

Bucky speeds up a little, heading for a pack of tourists. He ducks his head, trying to lose himself among them as they dart across the street, then at the last second he slips off into an alley. He squeezes between a dumpster and the brick wall of a building, listening hard. Her footsteps are all but silent when she approaches, and if he hadn’t been expecting it he’d have never known she was there.

He peers out. She’s dressed in form-fitting black, and Bucky can see the bulge of a weapon at her back and the glint of something silver under one sleeve. His heart is pounding so hard he’s surprised she can’t hear it, because he remembers his ill-fated jog and just how not in fighting shape he is, and this woman is clearly a professional. Professional _what_ , he doesn’t know, but he recognizes bad news when he sees it.

She passes by the dumpster and he takes his chance, leaping on her back and tackling her to the ground. He plants a knee in her back and scrabbles for the gun in her waistband, wrapping his hand around it just as she flips over and kicks him off. He lands hard on his back, no way to catch himself with the gun in his hand, and the second of breathless confusion is all it takes for her to snatch the gun back.

Bucky lies there, cursing his stupid goddamn missing arm and his stupid goddamn idiocy in thinking he could fight. After everything, years of being shot at and then surviving a roadside bomb, he’s going to die in a fucking alley in Brooklyn. So much for being able to take care of himself.

The woman stands over him, bending down and peering into his face. “Not bad,” she says, tucking the gun away. “You’ve got to learn to compensate for that arm, though.” She turns and strolls off, leaving Bucky gaping after her.

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I so mean to Bucky? I just can't seem to help myself.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky drags himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his back as he hobbles to the mouth of the alley. The girl is long gone. He pulls out his phone as he walks, selecting his only contact.

“Hey,” Clint answers. “Didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon.”

“Clint,” Bucky says, “I need to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly, okay?”

There’s a long pause. “Oh … kay. This sounds serious. Is something wrong?”

“That’s what I need to ask you,” Bucky replies. “I’ve been not asking about your job and the way that you clearly know a little too much about fucked up soldiers, because it was none of my business. But I think it might’ve just become my business, so I need to know. Is there someone after you? Someone who would have been watching and seen us together?”

“What happened?” Clint asks, sounding frantic. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

He sounds so genuinely concerned that Bucky just doesn’t know what the hell to do. He forces himself to walk at a normal pace, even though he wants to sprint for home. His heart is still racing and his breath is coming in harsh gasps, and every shadow looks like it’s out to get him. Can he actually trust Clint?

“Bucky! Talk to me, buddy. Do you need me to come over there?”

Fuck it. Even if this is Clint’s fault, he’s still the only friend Bucky has. “I’m not home. I was out walking, and someone was following me. We fought, and I seriously thought she was going to kill me, but then she just said some cryptic shit and walked off.”

“She?” Clint asks.

“If you’re just going to mock me - ” Bucky begins.

“No, no! I need to know, what did she look like?”

Clint’s starting to sound less worried and more pissed, and Bucky frowns in confusion.

“I don’t know … thin, maybe 5'3". I didn’t get much of a look at her face. Mostly I just noticed the red hair.”

Clint makes a strangled noise. “Red hair? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me … I’m going to kill her!”

Well, that doesn’t sound promising. “Clint?”

“I’m sorry,” Clint says. “I’m really, really sorry. She’s a friend of mine, and she gets a little … overprotective. I mentioned sending you that phone this morning, and I guess she wanted to check you out.”

“A friend?” Bucky finally arrives at his apartment building, and every stair feels like a step up a frigging mountain. “Like a jealous, raging psychopath sort of friend?” He unlocks his door and flops onto the couch, not bothering to take off his jacket.

Clint chuckles nervously. “More like a protective, overly paranoid friend. But I swear I didn’t know she was going to do this. I’ll talk to her; she won’t bother you again.”

“Seriously, what are you mixed up in? Do I need to worry about more people attacking me on the street?” Bucky can’t even find the energy to be pissed. Mostly he’s just so, so confused.

“I promise it’s nothing bad,” Clint says, sounding a little desperate. “I’ve been trying to get permission to tell you, but - ”

“Permission? What the hell, Clint? Do you work for the CIA or something?” Bucky toes off his shoes and sprawls on his stomach, wishing he’d had a chance to buy some beer before he’d been waylaid.

“Not the CIA, no.”

“Am I in danger now?” Bucky asks. “I think I deserve to know that much.”

“I don’t know!” Clint snaps. There’s a voice in the background, muttering something soft and soothing, and Clint sighs. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I guess it’s possible that someone could connect you to me, but honestly it doesn’t seem likely. No one really knows who I am. That’s all I can say right now, okay? I just need you to trust me a little longer.”

“Until you get your permission?” Bucky closes his eyes. He’s just so tired, and lost, and he doesn’t know what to believe or who to trust. He’s pretty sure civilian life wasn’t supposed to be like this. “Look, I have to go.” He jabs blindly at the phone, cutting off Clint’s protests, and tosses it aside.

He’ll deal with this shit tomorrow.

*****

Bucky wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. It's the generic straight-out-of-the-box ringtone, and it's horrifically annoying. And loud, despite the fact that he'd tossed his phone the night before and can't even spot it now. He starts to roll off the couch and freezes, because oh yeah, he'd almost forgotten about getting his ass kicked. His back is probably one big bruise. He hobbles across the room, finally locating the phone under his TV stand just as it stops ringing.

He sighs. It's not like he doesn't know who it is. He's not sure he can handle talking to Clint right now, but if there's one thing he's learned it's that the guy is one persistent asshole. Sure enough, it starts ringing again.

"Hello, Clint."

"Bucky!" Clint sounds oddly nervous. "I wasn't sure you'd answer. Look, I get that you're pissed, but I want to explain. I finally got that permission this morning, and ... I think this might be easier if you came here. I'm sending a car for you, okay?"

"You're sending a car," Bucky says flatly. "Okay, I'm changing my guess from CIA to mob boss."

Clint laughs. "No, also not a mob boss. Seriously, just, get in the car that'll be outside your door in about two minutes, and I'll explain everything. Actually, you'll probably figure it out before I have a chance to explain."

"I just want you to know," Bucky says, reaching for his shoes in resignation, "that my life has become so much stranger since meeting you. And that's really saying something."

"Oh, you have no idea."

Bucky jogs down the stairs and finds - "Is this a limo?"

"Pretty sure they're called luxury sedans," Clint says. "Get in. I promise you're not going to end up with cement shoes."

Bucky climbs inside. There's enough room in the back of the car for about eight people, and the driver pulls away without him having to say anything. "Drug kingpin? Mercenary?"

Clint makes a choking noise. "Not anymore. Will you just relax?  Enjoy the ridiculously ostentatious ride."

"Those are some big words there, circus boy."

Clint cackles. "See, I know we're going to be okay if you're being a dick to me. See you in about a half hour."

Clint hangs up, and Bucky settles into his leather seat. If he's about to be sold into slavery or something, at least he'll enjoy the ride there.

The car makes its way into Midtown, and Bucky wonders if they're heading to an office. Maybe Clint's bringing him to meet his boss? They roll to a stop in the shadow of a massive building, and the driver comes around to open Bucky's door. He slides out regretfully (heated seats, man ... so worth whatever's about to happen) and looks up.

At Stark Tower.

"What the fuck?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I love how half of you were like 'Natasha's so badass,' and the other half were all, 'Natasha, noooo!"
> 
> So the meeting with Steve is imminent. I'm kind of nervous about it, now that I've been building up to it for so long.
> 
> Also, if anyone missed it, I started a second part to this series where I'm doing missing scenes from other POVs, so check it out if you want.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky stands on the sidewalk, gaping, and nearly gets run over when a group of men in suits go scurrying by. So, either Clint works as some kind of bodyguard for Stark, or ... Bucky facepalms. It all makes so much sense now. The mysterious job, the way Clint had gotten so excited when he found out Bucky was a sniper. "I am so stupid," he says aloud.

"Nah," Clint says, smirking when Bucky's head pops up in surprise. "You'd have figured it out eventually. C'mon in." He waves Bucky into the lobby of Stark Tower, dragging him past a security checkpoint and into an unmarked elevator.

"You called the car ostentatious? Have you seen this lobby?" Bucky asks. Because they'd crossed it pretty fast, but he hadn't missed the way it screams wealth. It sort of reminds him of that one hotel from Ocean's Eleven, complete with absurd fountain.

Clint laughs. "You get used to it. Tony treats all his stuff like he found it at a garage sale, so it's pretty easy to forget how expensive it is. Just wait 'til you see him flop down on a $3000 couch with his clothes covered in engine grease."

There's a moment of silence while the elevator rises, and Bucky sees Clint giving him the side-eye. "So," Bucky says eventually. "Hawkeye."

"That's me!" Clint says with a grin. "See, not so stupid. I was pretty sure you'd figure it out as soon as you saw the building." The elevator doors open, and Clint pops out, gesturing excitedly. "This way. There are some people I want you to meet."

Clint leads him down a hallway, and they stop at the opening to what looks like a gigantic living room. There are five people lounging around in various states of pretending not to be looking, and Bucky thinks he might throw up.

"Clint?"

"Yes?"

"Captain America is over there."

Clint presses his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. "Yep."

"No, see, Captain America is over there, and I'm wearing yesterday's clothes - yesterday's clothes in which I was flat on my back in an alley - and I didn't have time to brush my hair this morning because you called and forced me out the door!"

Clint loses the battle and starts snickering. "Don't worry, you're still a pretty princess."

"You - I will find a way to get you back for this."

Clint looks relieved. "So you're still going to be speaking to me after this? Cause honestly, I wouldn't entirely blame you if you ran screaming from this madhouse while you have the chance. If you go in there, they're going to try to adopt you, and you'll never escape."

Before Bucky has the chance to respond, Tony Stark leaps out of an armchair and bounds up to him like an eager puppy. "You came! Huh, you're taller in person." - what?! - "Have you considered a prosthetic for that arm? Because Stark Industries - "

"Tony!" three different people yell in the same exasperated voice.

Despite himself, Bucky chuckles, and every eye in the room turns to him. He takes an involuntary step back, bumping into Clint, who throws a steadying arm around his shoulders. Bucky takes a deep breath. He's faced down much worse than an eccentric billionaire, even if said billionaire is also a superhero. "I didn't so much choose to come as I was abducted here, and I'm not sure I want to know how you knew how tall I looked." The arm thing, he's not touching right now. He hasn't even discussed it with Clint, and he's sure as hell not doing it in front of a bunch of strangers.

Clint nudges him farther into the room. "So I'm sure you know Tony Stark, and Steve over there." He flaps a hand at them in turn, and Bucky very carefully does not stare at Captain America. "That" - he points at a slightly older man with bright blue eyes - "is Phil, who you've heard all about. The man trying to disappear into the furniture is Bruce. And that redheaded menace is Natasha, who would like to say she's very sorry."

"You!" Bucky accuses, pointing at Natasha. Then he realizes he's just shouted at the Black Widow and winces.

Natasha stands and prowls gracefully across the room, stopping just in front of him. He's waiting for her to finish the asskicking, but she just smiles and extends a hand. "Sorry about the other night. I didn't intend for you to even see me. I wanted to make sure you were who you said you were, and when you attacked me I just reacted."

"Natasha!" Steve sounds scandalized. "You attacked a veteran? A veteran with one arm?"

"He attacked me first!" Natasha says, at the same time as Bucky snaps, "Hey! I'm standing right here, you know."

Because this might be Captain America, and Bucky might be kind of a mess, but he's not going to stand here and let someone else fight his battles. "Just because I only have one arm doesn't mean I'm some fragile kitten you have to rescue."

Steve blushes. Honest-to-God, ducked head and lowered eyelashes, tips of his ears turning bright red, blushes. Bucky kind of hates himself for being so charmed.

"I'm sorry," Steve says sincerely. "I didn't mean you can't take care of yourself. Sometimes Natasha acts before she thinks."

"Oh, speak for yourself," Bucky and Natasha say simultaneously. Bucky just stares at her, wide-eyed, as Clint starts losing it behind him.

"No, it's ... it's fine," Bucky says after an uncomfortable silence. "Both of you, it's fine." Honestly he's too overwhelmed to be pissed right now, not to mention trying to work out if he's dreaming. He just yelled at Captain America; what is his life? He's also been running through the roster in his head, and it occurs to him that the unassuming dude in the corner - Bruce - must be the freaking Hulk. He looks like someone's goofy uncle right now, with his fluffy hair and oversized cardigan, but Bucky remembers that factory crumbling to pieces.

Clint must pick up on some of his tension, because he stops giggling and starts steering Bucky back out of the room. "Hey, you want to check out the range? I think you'll be impressed. Tony built all these moving targets ... "

He continues chattering as they navigate back through the halls, but once they're far enough away from the living room, Bucky stops and braces himself against a wall.

"You all right?" Clint asks. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't have sprung them all on you at once. I just figured, easiest way to prove I wasn't a nutjob."

"Oh, you're definitely a nutjob," Bucky croaks.

Clint opens his mouth - probably to say something sarcastic - but they're interrupted by pounding footsteps. Steve comes jogging around the corner, skidding to a halt when he sees Bucky holding up a wall. "Are you okay?" Steve asks. "I hope we didn't scare you away - not that I think you're scared! Just, uh, I know Tony's a bit much, and I really didn't mean to - "

"Whoa," Clint interrupts. "Take a breath, Cap. I was just going to show Bucky here the range. You want to tag along?"

Bucky shoots him a death glare, which Clint cheerfully ignores.

"Sure!" Steve chirps.

Bucky, who ordinarily sort of hates perky people, finds himself smiling at the enthusiasm. Everything about Steve is just so open and guileless, and it doesn't hurt that he's basically the world's most perfect human being. Bucky's so screwed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I seem to have seriously underestimated how pissed you guys would be at Natasha. To be honest, I was going to let it go after this chapter, but after reading all the comments I think more groveling might be in order.
> 
> Speaking of which, I really keep telling myself to ration chapters better, but I can't seem to stop writing, and since I like incorporating your suggestions, I don't want to get ridiculously far ahead. Usually I'm the world's worst procrastinator, so the fact that I'm updating so often is some kind of miracle.


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky's expecting narrow, walled-off lanes and paper targets, and when they arrive at the shooting range he stops dead in his tracks, causing Steve to run into him. "Wow."

"I know, right?" Clint enthuses. "Say what you will about Stark, but the man knows how to outfit his team."

Steve looks a little like he's sucking on a lemon as he nods his agreement. Bucky hides a grin. Seems Captain America and the world's biggest playboy have some trouble playing nice. And really, this explains so much.

Bucky turns back to the so-called range. It must be an entire level of the tower. There _are_ lanes with paper targets, but there's also what looks like the world's most badass law enforcement course. There are no cardboard pop-up men here, but human-shaped robots, capable of ducking and diving for cover and _shooting back_. "Not real bullets, obviously," Clint assures him.

"This seems a little ... wasteful," Bucky says, poking at one of the robots. "I mean, do any of you actually use guns?"

Clint shrugs. "Natasha, mostly. Cap can, even if he usually goes for the shield. Phil's actually the best of all of us with a handgun. But Tony thinks it's important that everyone knows how to shoot, just in case. To be honest, I think he was mostly concerned about Bruce being able to protect himself without Hulking out, if something ever happened that he can't transform."

"I'm just surprised he didn't create an outdoor course," Bucky says. "Dig a few muddy trenches ... "

"Oh my god," Clint says in alarm. "Do not ever let him hear you say that."

Steve, who'd gotten the lemon-face again when Bucky said 'wasteful', chimes in. "He's had all this built just since we moved in. I suppose it's nice that he's spending his money to help his teammates, but ... "

"It makes you feel like you owe him something?" Bucky guesses. He can see how Steve, growing up poor and clawing for every advantage in life, would be uncomfortable surrounded by all this wealth. It makes _him_ a little uncomfortable, and he'd at least been pretty solidly middle class growing up.

"Right!" Steve says. "Plus there's just something about it that reminds me of that guy from Jurassic Park. 'Spared no expense.' Only instead of dinosaurs it's armed robots."

Bucky stares at Steve in disbelief until he starts to squirm. "What? We watched it at movie night last week."

Clint, snickering madly, adds, "It scared the shit out of the poor guy. Man, that T-Rex popped up on screen and I thought Cap was gonna dive for his shield."

Bucky laughs so hard that he has to lean on Clint to keep his balance. Steve's blushing again, his cheeks a delicate pink. It should not be possible for someone so big and muscular to be so cute.

"So, hey," Clint says excitedly, slapping Bucky on the shoulder, "You want to try it out?"

Steve looks at Clint in alarm. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"What?" Clint says. "I know you've seen his Army records - sorry Bucky, but ... Tony, what can you do? - and the man can shoot."

"It's not that," Steve says uncomfortably.

Bucky sighs. "Look, Cap, let's get something straight. I'm a little fucked up, okay? I'm the first to admit that. But I didn't lose it when your psychotic friend decided to stalk me, and I'm not going to lose it now. Do I think it's a good idea for me to go through that course with things popping up and shooting at me? Probably not right this minute, no. But I swear to God, if you keep treating me like I'm going to break, I will punch you. I'll probably shatter every bone in my hand on your ridiculous face, but I will do it. You can tell the rest of your team that, too."

Steve just blinks at him for a moment, like he's survived 70 years on ice and fought aliens and _this_ is the thing that has finally blown his mind. Then he nods a couple times, seeming to gather himself, and smiles. "Noted. I'm sorry, Bucky. I remember what it was like to have everyone treat me that way, and I shoulda known better."

"Great," Bucky says. "Now, give me a target and a gun I can shoot with one hand, and I'll show you superheroes how it's done."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the comments and kudos, seriously. I was sick and miserable yesterday, but then I discovered all the messages in my inbox and it definitely brightened up my day. :)


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky watches his last bullet tear through the target and turns to his audience with a bow. Clint's grinning from ear-to-ear, and Steve looks a bit shell-shocked. Despite his bravado, Bucky had been a little worried that he'd lost his touch after so long without practicing. He might not be in top form, but he still feels pretty justified in being smug.

The paper returns, and Clint whistles and pokes a finger through one dead-center hole. "Holy shit."

Steve nods. "What he said."

Bucky grins. It's the first time he's felt like himself in nearly two months, and it's freaking beautiful. He kind of wants to do a little happy dance. And if part of him is particularly giddy because Captain America is looking at him with something like awe, well ...

"They made us qualify with both hands," Bucky says. "And luckily I'm right handed anyway, so ... " He shrugs. "Still, it's nothing like what I could do with my rifle." 

"Maybe we should hire you as our firearms instructor," Steve says. 

He's clearly joking, but Clint gives Bucky a contemplative look. "Maybe we should do more than that."

Bucky frowns. "Was this some kind of test?"

"No, of course not." Clint grabs Bucky's elbow and all but drags him from the room, Steve trailing after. "Listen, I need to go talk to Phil. But I bet Steve would be happy to show you the rest of the tower, wouldn't you, Steve?"

Bucky tries to convey the depth of his hatred with his eyes, but Clint ignores him.

Behind them, a clueless Steve says, "Sure. The gym's really something, Bucky, or Tony has a great art collection down in the lobby."

"Great! I'll come find you." Clint darts off, calling over his shoulder, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Bucky grits his teeth. He'd never come right out and told Clint that he has the hots for Captain America - or that he likes guys at all, for that matter - but he'd probably been pretty transparent. And he'd figured out the day they met that Clint, for all his 'I'm a dumb circus boy' routine, is a lot smarter than he lets on.

"So ... gym, or ... ?"

Steve looks horribly uncomfortable, and Bucky wonders if it's him or if Steve is this bad with all people. Possibly it would help if Bucky hadn't shouted at him. Bucky's not doing much better himself. What are you supposed to say to Captain America? And oh God, what if he figured out what Clint was implying? But there's no way Steve doesn't know about Clint and Phil, and he seems okay with them -

"Bucky?" Steve asks, looking concerned.

And right, Bucky's just been standing there like an idiot, lost in thought. "Sure," he agrees. "The gym." He waves the other man ahead, following Steve through a labyrinth of hallways and elevators. After a minute, the silence becomes too much, and he blurts out, "So what's it like, living with Tony Stark?"

"It's ... interesting." And aw, there's the lemon face again. "Don't get me wrong; he's letting us live here and feeding us and building us equipment. It's just when he opens his mouth that's the problem." 

Bucky grins. Captain America, gossiping. Who would've thought? "So what is it? Bragging about his money and his conquests?"

"Well, no. The first time we met, he made a point of telling me all about how rich and smart he is, but I guess ... " Steve frowns. "I guess he hasn't done that in a while."

"Mm hm," Buck hums. "And what did you say, back then?" From all the blushing he's seen so far, he's tempted to think that Steve would have folded under Stark's personality, but then again, he had yelled at Natasha on Bucky's behalf.

"Ah." Steve ducks his head. "I might have insulted him. A little." Bucky stares at him pointedly, and Steve winces. "Okay, I called him a coward. But that was before we'd fought together, and to be fair, I was under the influence of an alien weapon."

"I see." They finally arrive at the gym, and Bucky's momentarily speechless. He doesn't even know what some of the equipment is for, and others he only recognizes from watching the Olympics on television. There's a pool, walled off in a separate glass room, and Bucky's feet itch to run and dive in. He can't even remember the last time he saw a pool, apart from the puny little thing in the physical therapy ward. He shakes his head. Right now, he's got a captain to talk some sense into. Maybe Clint'll let him come back and use the pool some other time.

He grabs Steve's arm (which is basically carved out of marble, holy shit) and drags him toward a weight bench. He has no doubt that Steve's letting himself be moved, although he looks befuddled.

"Sit," Bucky says, pointing. Steve sits. "Now tell me, Stark was also under the influence of this alien weapon, yeah?"

Steve nods slowly. "Yes, but - "

"And," Bucky barrels on, "if you said some things you didn't mean, or things that you don't think are true now, don't you think he might feel the same?"

"Yes."

Bucky sighs, wondering how he turned into a therapist. Talk about the blind leading the blind. "Did you ever apologize for what you said?"

"Not in so many words, no." Steve looks like a scolded child, and Bucky kind of wants to pat him on the head.

"And knowing Stark like you do, do you think he's going to just come out and say he's sorry?"

Steve shakes his head silently.

"Okay, now tell me about since the battle," Bucky says. He's starting to feel a little awkward hovering over Steve, so he sits down beside him on the bench. The narrow bench. The bench on which he is sitting close enough to Captain America to smell his shampoo. _Keep it together, Barnes_!

"I don't know," Steve mumbles. "He teases me all the time." He sighs in exasperation. "This makes me sound like a 5-year-old. But he's always making these comments he knows I won't understand, or jokes at my expense, or calling me stupid nicknames."

"Steve." Bucky kicks him lightly on the ankle, making him look up. "Did it ever occur to you that this is Stark's way of apologizing? He's not going to come right out and say it, but by teasing you and acting like he's not intimidated by you, he's basically telling you, 'Hey, we're cool now.'"

"Um," Steve says. "No?" He's looking at Bucky like he's never seen anything like him before, and Bucky's about 90% sure that he's about to be told to mind his own business. But then Steve smiles, this big, genuine, blinding thing that almost makes Bucky topple off the bench, and says, "Do you really think so? But I've never told him - I should go talk to him, right?" He leaps to his feet and then freezes, turning back to Bucky. "Oh, do you want to ... ?"

Bucky waves him off. "Go on, talk to him. I'll stay here and investigate. Just, if you see Clint, send him my way."

"Okay." Steve hesitates for a moment, then darts over to Bucky and gives him a quick hug. "Thanks, Bucky, really!"

Bucky watches him go, then tips his head back to stare at the cavernous ceiling. "What have I gotten myself into?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did all kinds of research about guns and distances and shooting one handed, but in the end I decided to not specify anything. Let's just say that Bucky's not quite up to where he was before being injured, but he's still badass. :)
> 
> So I said before that a Steve who never had a Bucky would be different, and this is one of the ways I think that would be true. Imagine him growing up all tiny and sickly and picked on all the time, only he never manages to make a close friend. He's still determined to go out there and fight the good fight, and he ends up with the Commandos, but there's always that bit of distance there because he's the leader, and they wouldn't give him shit the way movie-Bucky did. He's not used to teasing being friendly, rather than cruel, which makes Tony seem like even more of an asshole to him.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky's poking at something that might be either a treadmill or a spaceship when Clint wanders back in. "You," he says mildly, "are in so much trouble."

Clint laughs. "What? I just wanted to check on Phil."

"Uh huh," Bucky says. "And leaving me alone with Steve was totally unintentional." 

"I ran into Steve on my way here. He told me all about you sorting out his issues with Tony." Clint grins. "'Bucky's so smart,'" he says in a ridiculous falsetto. 

"I'm telling Steve you think he sounds like a girl," Bucky threatens.

"'I'm so glad you met Bucky,'" Clint carries on, clutching his chest. "'I want to have Bucky's babies.'"

"Oh my God." Bucky bangs his head against the treadmill/spaceship. "Please stop."

Clint snickers. "He was very impressed, though. So am I. We've been trying to get the two of them to get along for months."

Bucky shrugs. "Wasn't hard to figure out. Stark did the same thing with me when I'd known him for five seconds. Being offensive was his way of treating me like I'm normal. Only difference is, I appreciated it and Steve thought he was just being a dick." 

"So what you're saying is, you like dicks? ... Ooh, unintentional double meaning, I like it."

Clint looks entirely too pleased with himself, and Bucky huffs in disbelief.

"Are you 12? Seriously, what did I do to deserve being saddled with you and your terrible sense of humor?" Clint just crosses his arms and stares at him, and Bucky sighs. "Yes, okay? Yes to both. Now can we please stop talking about this?"

"Sure thing," Clint says with a shit-eating grin that Bucky does not trust _at all_. "So listen, it's getting late. You want to hang around here? There's plenty of extra rooms."

Bucky has to laugh, thinking back to a few weeks ago when he'd imagined living the good life in Stark Tower. He can't deny that he's tempted. He could poke around some more, maybe have another conversation with Steve. On the other hand, he's not used to this much human interaction, and it's a little overwhelming. " I don't know ... "

"C'mon," Clint wheedles. "Phil wants to meet you. You can hang out with us, watch a movie." Then, proving once again that he has some kind of mind-reading power, "I promise I'll keep the others away from you, if you don't feel like dealing with them again."

"Eh, why not?" Because really, what kind of idiot passes up the chance to hang out with the Avengers? 

Twenty minutes later, Bucky finds himself in Clint and Phil's private living room, curled into one corner of a squashy purple couch. The rest of the room is tasteful - not opulent like the public areas of the tower he'd been in, but still nice enough that Bucky's embarrassed about Clint having seen his own apartment.

Phil catches him giving the couch a dubious look and offers him a small grin. "It was Clint's. Stark decorated this suite for me, and I haven't had time to change much."

Clint, who's between them on the couch and basically using Phil as a giant body pillow, adds, "I told him I was moving in, and he told me I could pick one piece of my ... what was it? ... 'tacky, vulgar furniture' to bring with me. This couch was the most comfortable thing I owned."

"It is pretty comfy," Bucky agrees. Phil shoots him a betrayed look. "Well it is. Anyway, my couch looks like it was upholstered with a set of drapes from the 1970s, so I'm not complaining."

Clint wriggles around, arranging Phil's arms to his liking before propping his socked feet on Bucky's lap. "So Phil, did you hear about Dr. Barnes over here, therapist to the Avengers?"

Phil rolls his eyes. "Multiple times. Apparently Stark called Banner in a panic because 'Steve wants to talk about feelings.' Right after you left, Dr. Banner called to remind me that he's not _that_ kind of doctor, and that this was supposed to be my job as superhero-wrangler. He used to be so much more polite before he started spending all his time with Stark. Anyway, I ended up having to threaten to sit on Stark so he'd listen to Steve's apology. I believe they've worked it all out now."

"Great," Clint says, yawning. "See, I told you we need to keep Bucky around." He snuggles deeper into the couch, pinning Bucky down with his legs.

Bucky gives Phil an apprehensive look, but he just shakes his head fondly. "He's like an octopus. You might as well get used to it." Phil runs a hand through Clint's hair. Clint, already mostly asleep, hums softly. "Everyone has been accusing Clint of trusting you too easily. The truth is, that's rare for him. I'd go so far as to say that you're the only person outside of Natasha and I that he's ever been this comfortable around."

"Are you giving me a 'hurt him and I'll kill you' speech?" Bucky asks.

Phil snorts. "No. I'm saying I trust Clint's judgment, but the others might take some time. They've all had hard lives, in their own ways." He pulls an oversized blanket off the back of the couch and tosses Bucky one end, tucking the other around himself and Clint. "Make yourself comfortable. He's not moving anytime soon."

Bucky pulls the blanket up to his chin. The lights are low and there's some movie he doesn't care about playing softly on the television, and he can feel himself starting to drift. He's cuddled up on a couch with Hawkeye - and Hawkeye's boyfriend - and the weirdest thing is that it doesn't feel weird at all. "Pretty sure this is Stockholm Syndrome," he mutters.

The last thing he hears before falling asleep is Phil's gentle laugh.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know whether to be more ashamed of myself for the dick joke or the fluff, to be honest.


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky wakes to the first rays of dawn filtering through the curtains and immediately panics. He doesn't have curtains, and anyway his apartment is nestled between other, taller buildings and doesn't get this much sun. He's overheated, tangled in something soft but heavy, and there's something pinning him down, keeping him from moving his legs. His vision is still a little blurry from sleep, and he kicks out instinctively, tugging at whatever's covering him.

There's a thump, followed by an indignant, "Ow!" and then someone calling his name.

"Bucky? Bucky!" A hand shakes his shoulder, and he swings wildly. "Shit! Bucky, it's just me. It's Clint. You're on my couch, and everything's fine."

Bucky's heart is about to pound out of his chest, and the voice sounds like it's coming from the end of a long tunnel, but it's familiar.

"Stand down, soldier!" a different voice snaps near his ear, and he forces his eyes open.

There's a man with ruffled brown hair and worried eyes standing over him, his body on alert. Bucky knows this voice, too. Phil. Right. He exhales slowly, the previous night coming back to him. Clint's hovering nearby, rubbing his knee and wincing, and Bucky wants to smother himself. "I'm okay; sorry," he mumbles, burying his face in his hand. "Did I hurt you?"

"Nah," Clint says dismissively. "I get worse from sparring. I should've known better than to touch you, anyway. Phil and I both have our share of nightmares."

"Not a nightmare," Bucky says. "Just wasn't sure where I was for a minute."

Clint peers at him intently, and Bucky thinks _please don't make a big deal out of this_.

Clint nods. "Okay. So hey, now that we're all awake, Phil makes some killer pancakes. What do you say?"

"Was anyone going to ask my opinion on this?" Phil grumbles. Clint gives him puppy eyes, and he sighs. "Fine, but we'll have to go down to the main kitchen for ingredients."

 Clint offers Bucky a hand, dragging him to his feet. "That's okay; no one else will be up this early, except maybe Steve." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Bucky sighs.

"Pancakes," Bucky mutters. "I'm about to have pancakes in Stark Tower."

The pancakes are, in fact, delicious, but Bucky feels twitchy and embarrassed. Clint and Phil treat him like everything's normal, but after the second time he drops his fork, Clint turns to him with a sigh.

"Look, I wasn't going to say anything, but you're going to give yourself a heart attack. I'm not going to tell you to calm down, because I know how useless that is, but you don't have to be embarrassed." Clint straightens his shoulders, like he's gearing up for something unpleasant. "You remember the psycho with the horns from the Battle of New York?"

Bucky nods.

"Well, he ... " Clint clutches his fork so hard that Bucky's afraid it's going to snap in half. Phil lays a hand on Clint's arm, and he takes a shuddering breath. "He mind-controlled me. For half the battle, I was fighting against my own team. Sometimes I still wake up and have to convince myself that I'm in charge of my own brain. And Phil here was stabbed in the chest with an alien spear, and we all thought he was dead for a while. What I'm saying is, we know all about being a little fucked up."

"Eloquent as always," Phil says, shaking his head. "But he's right."

"I crashed a plane into the ocean and woke up 70 years in the future," Steve says from behind him, and Bucky nearly falls off his stool. "Whoa, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt, but I heard you guys talking and ... I don't know what happened to you, but they're right; no one's judging you here."

Bucky stabs a pancake. He didn't want to talk to the therapist they tried to saddle him with in the hospital, and he doesn't want to talk now. Talking about it's not going to bring his arm back, or his career. His _life_. And somehow it's even worse, knowing that the others got their scars saving the world. It makes his own incident pale in comparison, yet somehow he's the one who's the most screwed up. "Nothing to talk about," he says to his plate.

"Okay," Phil says easily. "We're not going to push. Are we, Clint?"

Clint mock-pouts at him. "Who, me?"

"Thanks, guys," Buck says quietly. "I think it's time for me to head home. If nothing else, I really need to change clothes."

"Do you need a ride?" Steve asks. "I know Tony sent a car for you yesterday, but those things make me feel really uncomfortable, like I'm in one of those gangster movies from the '30s."

Bucky has to laugh. "I thought the same thing. But I don't want you to go to any trouble - "

"No!" Steve insists. "It'll give me an excuse to take out my bike. Let me just go see if Tony has a spare helmet."

He darts from the room, and Bucky says, "Bike? Please tell me Captain America doesn't have a motorcycle. I can't ... this is like all my teenage dreams come to life at once."

Clint cackles loudly. "You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Angstville, folks. Hope you enjoyed your time with the fluff. :) But if Bucky's going to run around playing therapist, he has to suck it up and accept their help, too. I started to have him spill his guts in this chapter, but while that may have moved the story along faster, it wouldn't have been terribly realistic. He's only just met Phil and Steve, after all.
> 
> Also, I'm not suggesting that Bucky wasn't heroic, just that he doesn't view himself that way, especially when he's trying to compare himself to the Avengers.


	14. Chapter 14

Steve returns panting, like he'd sprinted the entire way. (Bucky does not at all find it enticing.) "Here you go," he says, thrusting a helmet at Bucky.

Bucky fumbles it for a second, then holds it up, staring in disbelief at the burnished red and gold. "This ... is painted like the Iron Man helmet."

Behind him, Clint and Phil dissolve into laughter. Steve just shrugs, like _what can you do._ "Tony's not subtle." 

Phil snorts. "Truer words were never spoken." He reaches out to shake Bucky's hand. "It was nice to finally meet you."

"You too," Bucky tries to say. The words are somewhat muffled when Clint attack-hugs him.

"Bye, Bucky! I'll see you later. Have fun with Cap." Clint winks at him, and Bucky despairs for ever having a private thought again.

"So," Bucky says, following Steve from the room, "Stark has a motorcycle?"

"Stark has everything," Steve replies. "He tried to give me one of his own, and then he tried to build one for me. And wow, I really have been pretty clueless about this friend thing, huh?"

Bucky just laughs. He trails Steve to an underground garage, which looks more like a very confused car dealership. There's a roadster that's nearly as old as Steve wedged between a '60s Ferrari and a brand new Aston Martin. Bucky might drool a little.

Steve's motorcycle is a gleaming silver BMW, and Bucky pats it appreciatively. It's gorgeous but not showy, and he can see why Steve likes it. Although ... "A German bike, Steve, really?" he teases.

Steve's cheeks pink a little, and oh man that will never get old. "It had the best reviews!" He eases the bike toward a large rolling door and beckons for Bucky to join him. "Hop on," he says, pulling on his helmet. "I've never actually had anyone ride with me before, but just put your arms around me and ... oh." 

Now he just sounds horribly embarrassed, and Bucky can't be having that. "I got this." He climbs on behind Steve, slips on his own helmet, and wraps his arm around Steve's (trim, well-muscled) middle. 

"All right?"

Steve's voice sounds like it's right in Bucky's ear, and he jumps. "What the ... is there a speaker in this helmet?"

Steve shrugs. "Stark. Hold on."

They emerge into an alley ("Very Batman," Bucky remarks. "Who?" Steve asks.) and Steve deftly maneuvers onto the streets. It's a little chilly out, but Steve is basically a human furnace, and Bucky is not about to complain. Steve smells of some faint, citrusy cologne and the leather jacket he'd slipped into on the way to the garage. Bucky's sex drive, which has been virtually non-existent since Afghanistan, is suddenly on red alert.

Steve is a careful, polite driver, and Bucky can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed. It's early enough that there's not much traffic, just the odd delivery van or empty taxi, and they make meaningless small talk about the landmarks they pass. It's nice, if utterly surreal, and after a few minutes Bucky manages to forget that this is Captain America and starts thinking about Steve, the guy who might be becoming his friend.

Of course, his luck being what it is, disaster strikes nearly the moment he has that pleasant thought. They're sitting at a red light, and Bucky is watching an elderly Korean man sweep the sidewalk in front of his store. A car sails through the light and hops the curb, striking the man, who slams into the storefront and then crumples on the sidewalk. The driver of the car hops out, and - Steve and Bucky both gasp in horror - pats down the man and steals his wallet before jumping back in the car. A woman darts out of the store and begins shrieking, and Bucky's about to climb off the bike and try to help when Steve shouts, "Call 911" at the woman and peels off after the car.

"Steve!" Bucky shouts. "What are you - you aren't seriously about to chase him down?"

Steve ignores him, tipping the bike dangerously close to the asphalt as he speeds around a turn. Bucky fists his hand in Steve's belt and thinks idly that he should probably be hyperventilating, but instead he's kind of buzzed. He's always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and this is the most exciting thing he's done in months. (Sneak attacks from Russian assassins notwithstanding.) Still, that doesn't mean he's not going to yell at Steve for being a reckless idiot.

"Steve," he says as they zip between a garbage truck and a parked van, "What are you going to do when we catch up with him, huh? I can't drive this thing with one arm. Steve!"

"I don't know!" Steve shouts back. "I'll figure something out."

"You'll figure - Steve, no!" Bucky wishes he had another hand just so he could thump Steve on the head. "You don't even have a plan? This is exactly the kind of thing I've been talking about. Bunch of dumbasses running around with no - "

"Bucky," Steve says as they finally catch sight of the car. "I'm going to cut him off, then I need you to hop off and run."

"Hop off?!" Bucky repeats, livid.

Steve accelerates down a side street, whips the motorcycle to a stop in the middle of the road, and says, "Bucky, run!"

Bucky climbs off the bike and makes a show of standing next to Steve. It'd be a lot more impressive if he could cross his arms, he thinks, but this'll do.

"Bucky!" Steve says desperately.

"Nope."

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know," Bucky says snidely. "I'll figure something out."

Steve frowns, looking like he's gearing up to argue, but the car suddenly turns onto the street and heads right for them.

"Are we playing chicken with this car, Steve?" Bucky asks. "Because I just want you to know that this is a really stupid plan. You don't even have your shield. What kind of superhero runs around without a weapon?"

"I didn't think I'd need it!" Steve protests. "And do you really want to argue now?"

The car shows no signs of slowing down, and Bucky's just calculating whether he can manage to shove Captain America's giant bulk out of the way when the driver slams on the brakes and skids to a sideways stop.

"Get out of the car!" Steve shouts.

Despite the fact that he has no weapon, he's still an intimidating figure. Plus, Bucky reasons, even dumbass criminals must recognize Captain America. Possibly _especially_ dumbass criminals.

Bucky pulls out his phone and dials the police, keeping one eye on Steve. The driver, who turns out to be a tweaked-out teenage boy, is actually looking a little weepy under the onslaught of Steve's scolding. Bucky rolls his eyes. By the time he manages to convince the police that he really is with Captain America and they really do have a criminal that needs picked up, the kid's a sobbing mess.

Steve shuffles over to Bucky, looking like he's facing his execution. "Um. Sorry?"

Bucky stares at him. "Are you apologizing for that ridiculous stunt or for trying to send me to safety like I'm some kind of delicate maiden?"

"Either?" Steve asks. "Both? Whichever you want. I shouldn't have brought you with me, but - "

"Steve," Bucky says impatiently. "If you had left me on the sidewalk with that old lady, I would never have spoken to you again. But we are going to have a talk about you and your terrible plans."

Steve nods meekly. "Okay."

"Great," Bucky says. "Now can you please take me home? If I wear these clothes any longer, they're going to stand up and walk on their own."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually saw the thing with the car happen once, though I was watching from a city bus and the victim wasn't an old man. Still, it's one of those things that kind of makes you wonder about humanity.
> 
> Anyway, Bucky finally gets to shout at Steve in person! I debated a long time about leaving him on the motorcycle for the chase vs Steve making him get off. I think Steve really, really wanted to make him stay behind, but he knew how pissed Bucky would be, especially after the lecture he just got about not treating Bucky like he's fragile. It's not really a good choice either way, and poor Steve just couldn't win.


	15. Chapter 15

Bucky, after being delivered to his door and exchanging awkward goodbyes with Steve, takes the world's longest shower. He finally, finally changes clothes, pulling on a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants. He's not leaving the apartment again today. Maybe not this week.

He's just settling down on the couch with a sugary bowl of cereal when his phone rings. He sighs. Soggy cereal is the worst, and Clint probably just wants to tease him about Steve. He thinks about ignoring it, but a glance at the screen tells him that Clint called twice while he was in the shower.

He sets his bowl aside with a longing look and answers the phone. "What?"

"You hypocrite!" Clint yells. 

"Um ... " 

"Steve just told me about your little adventure," Clint continues. "When a car is speeding toward you, you move out of the way!" Bucky makes a protesting noise, but he carries on. "And don't give me any bullshit about babying you, because I would dive out of the way! Natasha would dive out of the way. Anyone who's not Steve the goddamn super soldier would dive out of the way!"

Clint's actually breathing hard at the end of this rant, and Bucky feels a little guilty. He had maybe been trying to prove something to Steve, or to himself, he doesn't know, but he never intended for Clint to worry about him. "I'm sorry. I didn't think - "

"I know you didn't think!" Clint snaps. "Hypocrite." There's a voice in the background, and Clint lets out a strained laugh. "Phil says this is payback for all the grey hairs I've given him with my stunts. I hate it when he makes sense. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Bucky says. He's oddly touched - it's been a long time since he had anyone to worry about him. "It was actually kind of fun."

"Fun," Clint repeats, disbelief dripping from the word. "I don't know whether to be proud or say there's something wrong with you."

"Pot, kettle," Bucky says.

Clint huffs. "Fair. Well, Steve was impressed with you, anyway. And he wanted me to tell you that he checked on the old man after he dropped you off, and he's going to be fine. Just some bruises and a broken wrist. Apparently the guy didn't even realize who had helped him until Steve went back. And being Steve, he gave you half the credit and now the old dude wants to meet you, too."

"Oh no," Bucky says. "No, no, no."

"Yes, yes," Clint mocks. "I don't think you'll have much choice after everyone sees the news, because - "

"The news?!" Bucky asks in horror. "Please, no." He dives for the remote and starts frantically searching for a news channel.

"Sorry, man." Clint does not sound at all sorry, the asshole. "I guess someone caught your little standoff on video. It's pretty shaky and, you know, the quality of a cell phone video, but it's still obvious there's some dumbass standing there with Captain America."

Bucky lands on CNN, where they're showing a still of him and Steve standing in front of the motorcycle. The anchor is in the middle of speculating about 'Captain America's mystery partner.' "Nooo," he moans.

"Have you forgotten how to say anything besides 'no'?" Clint asks. "We're going to have to get you some public speaking classes if this is the best you can do, mystery partner."

He sounds way too amused, and Bucky wants to reach through the phone and strangle him. "I am seriously regretting the day I met you," he announces.

"Nah," Clint drawls. "You love me. So listen, Phil says he needs you to come back so we can all talk about this. I know you just got home - "

"Talk about what?" Bucky asks. "There is nothing to talk about. There will be no talking. I am going to get a new bowl of cereal and sit here and watch something that is not the news, and maybe have a nice relaxing daydream about being back in Afghanistan."

Clint snickers. "Excuse me, drama queen, could you put Bucky back on the phone?"

"I'm serious!" Bucky snaps. "What is there to talk about?"

"Weeelll ... " Clint hesitates, and Bucky just knows he's going to hate this. "They've got a pretty good shot of your face, there. People are already wondering who you are. They know you aren't an Avenger, because the only male Avenger who hasn't been dumb enough to go on camera is me, and ... well, obviously a one-armed archer doesn't make any sense. The fact that you were out joyriding with Cap in the early morning only makes people more curious. And apparently you have rugged good looks, according to the ladies on this one morning show Phil watches."

Bucky flops on his face in despair. "I hate you all," he mumbles.

"I know," Clint says cheerfully. "Now go have your cereal. I, being the excellent friend that I am, managed to wrangle you a couple hours to decompress, but then we need you back here. And hey, if it makes you feel any better, Steve hasn't stopped talking about you. As mating rituals go, throwing yourself in front of a car is a little unconventional, but hey, if it works."

"Hate. You," Bucky pronounces.

Clint just laughs at him. "See you in a few!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so amused at the thought of Phil snickering in the background. It's like when a parent tells their misbehaving child, "Some day I hope you have a kid just like you!"


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky brushes his hair (which is getting long, but apparently he's ruggedly handsome, so whatever) and puts on a decent shirt and jeans. He'd had a bowl of cereal and way too much coffee, then spent a blissful hour and a half watching _Airheads_ , because if his life is going to go (even more) to hell, then he's going to have one last guilty pleasure.

He's expecting Stark's mobster car again, and he's momentarily frozen with surprise when Phil pulls up in front of his building in a cherry red Corvette. "Did you get the short straw?" he asks, sliding into the passenger seat. "Not that I'm complaining, because I've seen more badass cars in the past two days than in my entire life."

Phil laughs. "Thanks. Clint wanted to come, but even he isn't allowed to drive Lola, and she only has the two seats." He pulls out into traffic, but Bucky can see Phil watching him out of the corner of his eye. "I also wanted to talk to you alone before the horde descends."

"Well that doesn't sound at all concerning," Bucky says.

"There are three options here. I'm sure you're not unaware that SHIELD has substantial resources," Phil continues. "There's a reason Clint and Natasha have yet to be identified by name, and it's not all down to their ability to avoid cameras. If you'd like, we can make this go away."

"You can't take back the video that's already out there," Bucky points out.

"No," Phil agrees. "But we can provide a false identity to go with that video. You have no friends or family to recognize you" - _well that sounds depressing_ , Bucky thinks - "and the picture of your face was a little grainy. The downside to this, of course, is that it will prove problematic if you continue to be seen with Steve in public. There's very rarely _not_ someone with a camera wherever he goes, and I can't promise that eventually someone won't follow you and find out the truth."

Bucky thinks about life in his shitty little apartment, about the depression he'd been steadily falling into before he met Clint. He thinks about people who will force him to go outside and live his life, and people who will care if he gets hurt. He thinks about Steve, and his brilliant smile and ridiculous blushing. "And what's option number two?"

Phil nods, looking unsurprised. "The next two options involve you throwing your lot in with the Avengers. I wasn't going to mention this for a while yet, but Clint has been lobbying to allow you in on some of their training. We've been going over your record with a fine-toothed comb, and I think it's safe to say it won't be a problem. Clint told us about some of your more colorful rants regarding the Avengers' teamwork, and while it was amusing, it was also very true. I do what I can from my end of the comms, but we could always use another set of eyes. You also seem to be remarkably adept at tolerating their ... unique personalities. I find myself wanting to murder Stark at least once daily. I think you'd make an excellent handler."

Bucky stares, open-mouthed. "I was just shouting at the news!" he protests. "I had no idea who Clint was when I said that stuff."

"Had you known, would you have said anything different?" Phil asks.

"Well ... no," Bucky says. "But that still doesn't mean I'm qualified. And I'm kind of a mess. An unqualified mess."

Phil shrugs one shoulder. "It wouldn't take much to make you qualified. As for being a mess, believe me when I tell you that the Avengers are nothing but a giant pile of trauma and daddy issues. Anyway, Clint, Steve and Natasha all vouch for you, and that's good enough for me."

"Natasha?" Bucky asks incredulously.

"She was very impressed," Phil assures him. "Not many people see the Black Widow coming when she doesn't want them to."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Bucky says, "but what's option three?"

Phil suddenly looks a little shifty. "Ah, well. Option three was my own idea, and I'm afraid Clint might not be very pleased with me when he hears it. For what it's worth, I do think it's the best option. If this morning has proven anything, it's that you can still perform under fire." 

"And?" Bucky asks impatiently.

"Option three," Phil tells him, "is that you let Stark build you that arm he's been offering, and you become a full member of the Avengers."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for Bucky watching Airheads, except that I was trying to think of something I secretly think is funny but ordinarily would never admit to watching. If you've never seen it, Brendan Frasier, Adam Sandler and Steve Buscemi are these three idiots in a rock band who sort of accidentally take hostages and hijack a radio station (with squirt guns filled with hot sauce) while trying to get their demo tape played. 
> 
> Some of you were concerned about Bucky's mental health, and we'll talk more about that next chapter, but I think he's doing okay right now because 1) the incident with Steve wasn't remotely like anything that happened in Afghanistan, and 2) he's one of those people who's at his best under pressure, and if he's going to lose it it'll be later when everything calms down and he has time to think. Obviously he'll still have to work through some of his issues before they actually send him out in the field, though.


	17. Chapter 17

They spend the rest of the ride to the tower in silence, with Phil shooting Bucky the occasional concerned look. Not in his wildest dreams had Bucky imagined he'd be able to fight again, let alone become an Avenger. The thought of being useful, of knowing again what his purpose is in the world ... it's almost enough to make him say yes right then. Unfortunately, that little asshole part of his brain that always insists on being realistic is reminding him that there's a very real possibility he'd get out in the field and just choke. He'd been all right with Natasha and Steve, but so far no one had actually been shooting at him. There's also the whole out-of-shape issue, although ... the Avengers do have a pretty badass gym.

He's so lost in thought that he doesn't realize they've arrived until Phil parks the car. "Listen," Phil says as they climb out, "no matter what anyone says, don't let them pressure you. This is your decision, and you can take as long as you need to make it."

Bucky nods. He knows now what Clint sees in Phil - the man is like a little island of calm in the middle of a storm. More than anything, he's just grateful to know these people, to have them be concerned for his well being while still allowing him his choice.

They take an elevator to the giant living room where Bucky had first seen the Avengers and find the others lounging around watching some action movie on television. He's pretty sure it's deliberate, meant to put him at ease in a way that a conference room wouldn't.

Clint spots them first,  and his face lights up in a smile. "You're back! C'mon Bucky, sit next to me. None of these heathens know how to appreciate a good movie."

Bucky peers at the screen. "Don't you see enough explosions in real life?"

"Never!" Clint declares. As soon as Bucky gets close enough, Clint drags him down on the couch and proceeds to use him as a pillow.

"You know," Bucky says, "one of these days Phil is going to get jealous."

Clint and Phil make identical scoffing noises. "Please," Phil says, claiming his own chair, "I'm happy to let him smother someone else for a while."

"Besides," Tony pipes up (and Bucky's surprised he lasted this long), "we all know you and Cap are special friends now."

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he also sneaks a peek at Steve, who is flushing and doing his best to pretend Bucky doesn't exist. His heart sinks. Not that he really thought he had a chance, but if Steve can't even handle the suggestion ... it's going to make it awfully hard to work with him.

"So," Clint says. "I guess Phil talked to you on the way here?"

"Yeah, about that," Bucky says slowly. "I think Phil has something he wants to tell you."

Phil sits taller in his seat. Bucky has the feeling that if he was wearing a tie, he'd straighten it. "I know we all discussed two options for Bucky before I went to collect him, but while we were in the car, I suggested a third."

"Oh?" Clint asks, and there's so much danger in that one word that Bucky kind of wants to hide.

Instead, Bucky blurts out, "Phil thinks I could be an Avenger." He catches Clint's murderous glare and adds, "And don't look at him like that. He's not trying to force me. He just said he thinks I could be good at it."

"Sorry," Clint mumbles. "It's just, I've had one too many so-called offers in my life that were more like 'join up or die' or 'join up or go to prison.'" He exchanges a loaded glance with Natasha. "I know Phil wouldn't choose to do that to you, but ... "

"No one's making anyone do anything," Phil says. "I had a nice long talk with Fury before I agreed to take this job, and SHIELD doesn't have the power to force anyone to join - or leave - the Avengers."

"Yeah," Stark says, "that would be why I'm bankrolling this entire operation." He turns all of his considerable focus on Bucky. "So are you going to do it? Does this mean I get to build you an arm?"

"Look," Bucky says. "If - _if_ \- I agree to do this, my arm is kind of the least of my problems. I'm not in fighting shape anymore, physically or mentally."

"Taking into consideration what you've been through over the past few days, I'd say you're doing remarkably well," fluffy-haired dude says from the corner.

Bucky jumps. He'd seen the man - Bruce, that's it - when he first came in, but he's just so quiet and unassuming. Bucky can barely wrap his head around the idea that this guy is the Hulk.

"I thought you weren't that kind of doctor," Tony snarks.

Bruce just stares at him serenely. "I'm not. But I know the look of a man about to go over the edge, and that's not it."

"Anyway," Phil interrupts, turning back to Bucky, "we can offer you any help you might need. And of course you'll have as much time as you need to practice in training scenarios before you go out into the field."

"I'd be happy to take charge of his physical training," Natasha says.

Bucky stares at her, wide-eyed, waiting for someone to point out what a terrible idea that is. Instead, Clint grins proudly.

"That's a great idea," Clint enthuses. "Natasha's already said the two of you have similar fighting styles."

Bucky squirms. They're all staring at him like they're waiting for him to say yes, and he's flattered, really, but he's still not sure it's a great idea. And anyway, Steve is still sitting there silently, refusing to look at him. Does Steve think he can't hack it? Or worse, does he hate him now? Bucky wants to yell at him to just _say_ something. Well ... he's never known when to keep his mouth shut. "Steve?" he asks. Steve's head pops up, and he looks at Bucky (or somewhere just over Bucky's shoulder) nervously. "Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"

Bucky can see the surprise on every face in the room, but they all remain silent. Bucky stands without waiting for Steve to answer and forces himself to walk slowly back into the hallway. Steve emerges, looking for all the world like a dog with its tail between its legs, and Bucky sighs. "Have we got a problem?"

"What?" Steve asks.

"Don't 'what' me," Bucky snaps. "You haven't so much as glanced at me since I got here, and you're the only one who hasn't had anything to say. Is this about Tony and his comment?"

Steve looks genuinely confused. "What comment? I don't ... " He shakes his head. "No, I don't have a problem with you. It's me that I'm upset with. I know you said you'd have been angry if I left you behind, but look at what's happened. Your face is on the news! I feel like I've messed up your whole life."

"Steve," Bucky says impatiently, "I have no life. I have no job, no friends or family. Now ... now it's like I'm being offered all those things at once. I want this; I'm just scared." He has to shove aside every ounce of pride to admit to Captain America that he's afraid. It's easier, though, when he looks up and just sees Steve, sympathetic and sincere.

"I felt the same way," Steve admits. "About the family and friends. You know, they told me I could join SHIELD and run solo missions, but I liked the idea of being on a team. I think you'd fit in with us, if you wanted to."

Bucky smiles. (If his traitorous heart perks back up, no one but himself needs to know. _Just because Steve isn't a raging homophobe doesn't mean you have a chance_ , he reminds himself sternly.) "Okay, now that that's cleared up."

He takes a deep breath and steps back into the room. "I think I want option number three."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you'll have noticed the definite lack of Thor by this point. I mentioned in one of the side stories that he was off somewhere, but the truth is that I just really, really have a hard time writing him. Trying to get his language right drives me nuts. I haven't totally decided yet whether I'm going to suck it up and write him anyway or just leave him on Asgard. 
> 
> And I swear there's romance coming eventually. I'm so sloooow.


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky's announcement is met with varying degrees of delight. Clint whoops and gestures him back to the couch, where he barely has a chance to sit before Clint's chattering about teaching him to use the bow. Stark is rhapsodizing about prosthetic arms to anyone who will listen (mostly himself). Natasha offers him something that might generously be termed a smile and then disappears from the room. Phil reclaims his chair and starts typing furiously on his phone. Bruce nods politely and slinks from the room, and Bucky watches him go with a frown.

"He's not going to bite, you know," Clint says, interrupting his own ramble. "It took Stark forever to convince him to stay here instead of rabbiting back to India or wherever, because Bruce was so convinced he's dangerous."

"Isn't he, though?" Bucky asks.

Clint shrugs. "Sometimes. But he hasn't flipped out and squished Stark for going around jabbing him with pointy things, so I'd say we're pretty safe. And even when the Hulk comes out, he's getting a lot better at controlling him."

Bucky nods, feeling a little guilty. He knows, from his brief ventures into the world, what it's like to be looked at like a freak. Leave it to Stark, though, to be the one to figure out how to make Bruce stay. "It's like the land of the misfit superheroes in here," he comments.

Clint cracks up, and Bucky feels someone's eyes on them. He looks up to see Steve lingering in the doorway, a strange look on his face. It's almost longing, and Bucky wonders how long it's been since Steve had anyone to laugh with. He catches Bucky staring and lowers his eyes.

Clint, of course, manages to catch the entire thing despite still giggling obnoxiously, and he waves a hand at Steve. "Hey, Cap," he calls. "Come finish watching this movie with us. There's plenty of time to talk about serious stuff later, but Steven Seagal waits for no man."

Clint scoots to one end of the couch, dragging Bucky along so he ends up in the middle. Bucky shoots Clint a death glare as Steve settles in beside him. The couch is built for three, but Clint seems to be taking up an awful lot of space, and Steve's ... everything is so large and muscular that Bucky's pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with him. It's almost enough to completely distract Bucky from the movie, but ... "Wait a minute. Did you say Steven Seagal?"

"Who's Steven Seagal?" Steve asks, his nose scrunching in confusion. (It's not adorable. Not at all.)

Clint opens his mouth to answer, but Bucky beats him to it. "He's like the poor man's Chuck Norris." Steve still looks confused, and Bucky sighs and adds, "He's a terrible, terrible actor, okay? It's an affront to the very words 'action movie.'"

"Wow," Clint says, grinning. "You're very passionate about this."

"You're going to corrupt him," Bucky exclaims, pointing at Steve. "All the movies he has to catch up on, and you pick this."

"To be fair," Steve says, "no one was really planning on watching it. It was just - "

"To put me at ease, yeah, I know," Bucky finishes. "Just FYI, walking into a room full of Avengers is going to be stressful, Steven Seagal or no."

Steve chuckles. "Noted." There's a long pause, during which something blows up implausibly on screen, and then Steve says, "So ... are you going to let Tony build that arm?" He looks hesitant, like he's not sure if he's allowed to be asking.

Which, come to think of it, Bucky wouldn't put it past Clint and Phil to warn the others not to push too much about his arm. But if this is going to be his new team, he probably owes them some answers. "I don't know," he says. "I guess so? I mean, I won't be much use without it."

Clint, who had been pretending very poorly to not hear their conversation up until this point, says, "Of course you would! Phil told you that you can be a handler. Or, I mean, anything else you want. We can find something."

Bucky shrugs. "I just can't see myself sitting there and listening to the action, not being able to jump in. Plus, I don't want to step on Phil's toes. And I guess ... " He thinks back to the shooting range, the way that he'd felt competent and in control for the first time in so many weeks. How much better would it be to have both hands, to be able to use his rifle again? "I guess it's not just about being useful. I want to feel like _me_ again."

"I hear you man," Clint says. "Believe me."

"Great!" Tony says, popping up from his chair (where he's apparently been eavesdropping all this time, and have none of these people ever heard of privacy?) He practically skips over to Bucky, his body vibrating with excitement. "I've already started on some plans, but I need to get some X-rays of your shoulder, and Bruce can help ... "

He keeps rambling even as he wraps a hand around Bucky's wrist and drags him from his seat. Bucky looks back at Clint, who's shaking his head in amusement, and Steve, who looks sort of ... proud?

" ... much better than the stuff that's on the market right now, naturally," Tony continues as he pulls Bucky out of the room.

Bucky thinks about putting up a token protest, but in the end he just goes with it. Apparently he's been appropriated by the Avengers, and he can't even bring himself to complain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote part of this chapter in the waiting room at a doctor's office. This old, grandmotherly woman leaned over and asked what I was working on, and I was like, "Uhh ... nothing?" Definitely not writing gay fiction over here, ma'am. Haha.


	19. Chapter 19

Over the course of the next 20 minutes, Bucky learns three things. One, the tower has an artificial intelligence called JARVIS, who turns out to be a much better conversationalist than Stark himself. Two, Stark's workshop is some kind of unholy mashup of laboratory, machine shop and hospital. Three, Bruce Banner is surprisingly hilarious and also the only person Bucky's seen Stark defer to so far.

" ... feel the need to remind you that this is not Inspector Gadget," Bruce is saying in this absolute deadpan, "and under no circumstances are you to install lasers in the arm."

"Aw, Bruce," Tony whines. "You ruin all the fun."

"Are they always like this?" Bucky asks the ceiling.

"You have no idea," JARVIS responds, somehow managing to sound weary.

Bucky's sitting on a spinning stool, shirtless and freezing, watching the two geniuses argue over the X-rays they've just taken. He's starting to wonder why he ever thought this was a good idea. He probably _is_ going to end up with lasers, or a jet propulsion system, or a hand that turns into the world's most deadly Swiss Army knife. Also ... well. It's not like he doesn't take his shirt off to shower or change clothes, but so far he's done a pretty thorough job of avoiding a close look at his shoulder. Obviously he knows the arm isn't there, but something about seeing that point at which it disappears, just ceases to be ... it makes him ill. Anyway, it's a mess of scar tissue and an even bigger mess of bad memories, and he's really, really uncomfortable with these virtual strangers looking at it.

" ... really like to know who did this hatchet job, anyway," Tony's saying.

Bucky looks up in time to see Bruce wince. The answer to that question is mostly 5,000 pounds of armored vehicle, not that he's about to volunteer that information, but Bruce seems to have the general idea.

"I think they probably did the best they could, Tony," Bruce points out. "Anyway, we can make it work. If we reconfigure ... "

Bucky's attention drifts again as the conversation turns back to scientific mumbo-jumbo. They'd offered to outfit him for a prosthetic back in Bethesda, but he'd been less than cooperative about the whole thing. The last thing he wanted was more surgery and more time trapped in the hospital, no matter how many times the doctors tried to convince him otherwise. Looking back, he'd probably been a bit of an asshole.

" ... if we could try to avoid rewiring these nerves," Tony says, suddenly right next to Bucky, "I think that would - "

Tony reaches out and prods at Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky ... loses it. He's halfway across the room before he registers moving, and it takes an insistent ache in his chest for him to realize that he's holding his breath. It hadn't hurt - he hadn't felt much of anything, really - but there's an alarm in his head blaring _He touched it, he touched it_ and _Get away_! He finds himself pressed up against a wall - cold, why is it so cold? - and he wants to run away but his shirt's still across the room and he _can't_.

Bruce, who Bucky decides is his favorite Avenger, screw the whole Hulk thing, appears to realize what's going on and picks up Bucky's shirt where it was folded on a table. He doesn't approach, just lobs the shirt at Bucky, who fights to pull it on. It gets all tangled up around his head, and why does it have to be so hard? It's just a goddamn shirt, but his stupid, stupid arm ...

He must say that out loud, because Bruce does approach him then, saying calmly, "It's all right, Bucky. It's fine. Can I help?"

Bucky laughs a little hysterically, because oh, everything is so not fine. He can't even put on a shirt, or have someone look at his shoulder without flipping his shit. He shakes his head and gives up on the shirt, bolting out the door with it crumpled in his hand. He stumbles blindly down the corridors, no real thought but to get away, until he realizes he's going to be sick. "JARVIS? You still there?"

"Of course, sir," the AI replies promptly. "Can I be of assistance?"

"I think ... I need a bathroom," Bucky says. He's trying to take deep breaths through his nose to stave off the nausea, but it feels like a lost cause.

JARVIS directs him into an elevator and through an unused suite. He recognizes it as the one he was going to stay the night in before he fell asleep on the couch with Clint and Phil, and he feels an overwhelming gratitude to JARVIS for not letting him puke in a public lobby or something. He collapses to his knees in front of the toilet, still clutching his shirt like some kind of pathetic security blanket. _In and out_ , he tells himself. _There's no reason you can't breathe_. His stomach is settling down, at least. He wedges himself between the toilet and the sink, resting his head against the wall. He'll stay here for a minute, just in case.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys know that prosthetic hands can be operated via a Bluetooth connection? My first thought was, "Oh my god, what if someone hacked it?!" That sounds like a really bad sci-fi story.
> 
> Anyway, there is a prosthetic arm out there that can respond to signals from your brain, but it involves surgery on the nerves in what's left of the arm, plus recovery time from the surgery, plus lots of training with the arm. So ... let's just all pretend that the science bros are just that awesome and will manage to come up with something better.


	20. Chapter 20

Bucky's not sure how long he sits there before he gets himself mostly under control. It's a nasty cycle - the panic making his stomach upset, the worry that he's going to be sick making the panic worse. He's gone from cold to hot, and the cool tile behind his head is soothing. Of course, as soon as the panic starts to ebb, the embarrassment rushes in. He'd just lost it in front of two of his potential teammates. Are they going to decide he's too fucked up to join them now?

He hears footsteps in the apartment, and a moment later a head appears in the open doorway of the bathroom. Bucky's not sure who he wants to be standing there - apart from no one - and he glances up warily. Steve. Perfect.  Reason number 1001 why he has no chance.

"Hey, Bucky," Steve says quietly. It's a _don't spook the wild animal_ voice, but Steve manages to somehow look both hopeful and like he's sure he's about to be sent away. "JARVIS told us you were in here. Clint said to give you some time, but I wanted to make sure you're okay. I can leave, though, or go get Clint if you'd rather ... ?"

It's a little late, Bucky thinks. Steve's already seen him curled up shirtless on the bathroom floor; how much worse can it get? And Clint's already done so much for him. He doesn't need to subject him to another of Bucky's messes. "I'm okay," Bucky says dully. Steve, despite the whole puppy dog thing he's got going on, isn't an idiot, and Bucky knows he doesn't buy it.

"Uh huh," Steve says. He takes a few steps into the room and plops down on the floor, sitting with his back against the wall. He's not close enough to crowd Bucky or block the exit, and yeah ... definitely not an idiot. Probably he's seen this sort of thing before, although Bucky imagines that back in Steve's day guys were meant to suck it up and deal with it. "Do I need to go kill Tony?"

Bucky laughs despite himself. "Not Tony's fault. It's not like I didn't know they'd have to touch it."

"There was no need for him to be in such a hurry," Steve says mulishly. "Dragging you down there when you'd barely had time to get used to the idea."

"He was just excited. And honestly, I don't know if it would've mattered how long he waited," Bucky admits.

"Can I ask ... " Steve chews on his lip, the picture of hesitation. "What was it that bothered you?"

Bothered him. Well, that's one way to put it. He could lie, or tell Steve to fuck off, and probably Steve would never bring it up again. But ... obviously denial isn't working so well anymore. And really, who's more trustworthy than Captain America? He's not going to go blab Bucky's secrets or hold them against him. And if he does, then he's an asshole and Bucky wants nothing to do with him anyway.

"I don't ... like to look at it," Bucky says haltingly. "Obviously I know it's not there, but - " He tugs at his hair in frustration. It doesn't even really make sense to him. How is he supposed to explain it? "It's all so stupid. I held it together with Natasha and during your little car chase stunt. Why don't I freak out about things that are actually scary, instead of this bullshit?"

"I don't know," Steve says thoughtfully. "I think everyone expected that I'd be afraid of water, after ... everything. But it doesn't bother me at all. I like taking baths and swimming. You want to know what does get to me, though?" Bucky makes a questioning noise. "Silence. It was so quiet under the water, and you know, the soundproofing in this place is amazing, but sometimes I wake up and ... " Steve shakes his head. "Silly, right?"

Bucky thinks about sleeping with his television on, and Clint and his fan, and no, it's not silly at all. He wants to tell Steve this, but words seem to have abandoned him again.

"Anyway," Steve continues, "you can't control what makes you remember." They sit in a strangely companionable silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. "Do you think we could get off the floor now? My ass is asleep."

Bucky starts giggling. Part of it is this completely adolescent reaction - Captain America just said ass! - but he's also relieved. Steve's not looking at him like he's going to break. He _is_ looking at him like he can't figure out what's so funny, but Steve smiles back anyway, and Jesus, it's not fair that one person can be so hot _and_ so nice.

Steve reaches out a hand and tugs him to his feet, then turns and walks away. Bucky kind of loves him in that moment, for giving him time to pull himself together. And put his shirt on, which now that he isn't hyperventilating turns out to be as easy as always. He trails after Steve, finding him in the suite's kitchen filling two glasses of water.

"Do you guys all know?" Bucky asks. "About what happened with the arm? I know Stark hacked into my records." He's been wondering for a while, and he's not sure if it'd be better or not if he didn't actually have to tell them. (Which reminds him, he needs to have a talk with Stark about privacy.)

Steve chokes on a sip of water. Oops. "No! I wouldn't - I know it's none of our business. Tony knows everything, of course, but I wouldn't let him tell the rest of us. And I guess Phil does, since he was looking into you for the Avengers. But no one else, I promise."

"Right." Bucky's still coming down from the anxiety attack, and just the thought of having to spill his guts is almost enough to bring on another one. Still, if he ever wants that arm, he has to get over this, and who knows ... maybe the doctors weren't so full of shit about talking it out, after all. "I don't think I can handle everyone, but ... can we go find Clint and Phil?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look kids, no more denial! Not that everything will be magically fixed, but at least after Bucky finally talks it out, we can start getting to the fun stuff. :)


	21. Chapter 21

Phil and Clint, it turns out, were about to head out for the evening, and Bucky feels terrible. This whole thing is bad enough, and now he's ruining their plans.

"Seriously, don't worry about it," Clint says, dragging Bucky through the door while somehow taking off his jacket with one hand. He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "It was Phil's turn to choose what we did tonight, and I love the man but he has the worst taste in movies."

Phil heaves a long-suffering sigh, though he can't hide a small grin. "Just because I don't think fake explosions are the pinnacle of filmmaking ... "

"Anyway," Clint continues, pushing Bucky onto the sofa. "Sit. You too, Cap. Drinks? We should have drinks. This looks like it's about to be a serious conversation." He darts into the kitchen and starts rummaging loudly through cabinets. "I don't even know what half of this shit is. Stark stocked the bar - surprise, surprise - and I'm pretty sure most of it's older than Steve."

By this point, Phil has wandered off, and Steve is still lurking uncomfortably in the doorway. Bucky sighs. He's pretty sure Clint knows why they're there, but he really needs for someone in the room to not be nervous. He mutters an excuse to Steve and hurries after Clint.

"What are you doing?" Bucky asks, pushing into the kitchen. "You can't just keep leaving me with - uh."

Clint is standing on his tiptoes, straining for something on the top shelf. He's bouncing a little, like that's going to give him the extra boost he needs to reach it. Bucky snickers.

"Oh fuck off," Clint says mildly. "You're only like an inch taller than me. Who puts booze on the top shelf, anyway? It's just asking to smash a bottle on your head when you're already wasted."

"You didn't know where your own alcohol was?" Bucky asks, leaning against the counter. He'd offer to help, but this is pretty damn funny.

"Neither one of us drinks much, really," Clint says with a grunt. The counter's digging into his abdomen, and it has to be really uncomfortable. "And we've been so busy since we moved in." Bucky wonders if he should point out that Clint could just climb on the counter, but ... nah. Clint bounces again, and there's the sound of glass rattling. "Shit!"

A moment later, Steve pokes his head in the room, then blinks at the sight of Clint. "Um. Do you need help?"

Clint retreats from the cabinet, huffing indignantly. "Not a word," he says, pointing at Steve. "Just grab them all."

Steve reaches up, gathering an armload of bottles. (Bucky might take a moment to enjoy the view. There's a lot of bicep action going on there.) Clint directs them back to the living room, where Phil is curled up in a chair wearing pajama pants and a Hawkeye T-shirt. Bucky fails to stifle a laugh, and Steve grins at him. That smile is almost enough to make him forget why they're there.

Clint forces drinks on everyone - including Steve, who tries to insist there's no point - before turning to Bucky. "So ... uh, I want to ask how you are, but I feel like that would be kinda stupid."

Bucky shrugs. "Nah. I know JARVIS told you guys what happened, but I'm okay. I mean, relatively speaking." He shakes his glass, watching the ice cubes swirl. He can't decide if this is a conversation best had sober, or if he wants to get spectacularly drunk. "But I know that eventually I'm going to have to let Tony and Bruce touch my arm, and I can't do that if I don't ... Look, I'm not gonna go talk to a shrink, but I thought maybe I could at least tell you?"

He hates that he sounds so plaintive at the end, but Clint starts nodding immediately. "Yeah, of course you can. I can't promise that I'll say the right thing - actually I can pretty much guarantee that I won't - but I'll listen."

Bucky snorts. "Thanks. It's not really anything that you haven't heard a million times before. Certainly not, you know, aliens or anything."

Steve, who has conveniently ended up next to him again, reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. "You know that doesn't matter. It doesn't make what happened to you any easier."

"Yeah." Bucky blows out a long breath. "The hell of it was, I'd been in so much more danger plenty of times before. I lost count of how many times I'd been shot at. But that day ... you're always on alert, you know, so it's not right to say we didn't expect anything. But it was supposedly a safe area we were driving through." He closes his eyes, trying to find the words. The first and only other time he'd told this story, to some faceless official, it hadn't felt like he was even talking about himself. It's almost like he was narrating the world's most nightmarish bedtime story. Now, though. Now it feels real.

"It was an IED?" Phil asks.

Bucky knows that he already knows the answer to that, but he's thankful for the prompt. "Yeah. That almost makes it worse, you know? I'll never know who exactly to blame. Who that bomb was meant for or who built it. I think ... there's part of me that would tear the world down if I could find the assholes who did it." He looks up a little fearfully, expecting censure, but all three of his friends just nod in understanding. "Anyway, I'm still a little fuzzy on the details, but I know we rolled, and the vehicle was on fire. I was pinned for a while - my arm - and I thought I was going to ... Damn it." He wipes at his face. He's not sure if he's sweating or crying or both, remembering those terrifying minutes when he'd been so sure he was going to burn.

Clint hops up and wedges himself between Bucky and the arm of the couch. "Is this ... if I try to hug you are you going to punch me?"

Bucky laughs wetly. "I won't punch you."

Clint slings an arm around his shoulders, and Bucky sags against him. He decides that, fuck it, this is an excellent time for a drink, and he throws back half his glass, wincing at the burn.

"Can I ask ... " Steve trails off uncertainly. "Did anyone else survive?"

Bucky shakes his head. "There were four of us, and I was the only one who made it. I'd like to tell you I made some big heroic attempt to save them, but the truth is I don't even remember how I got out. I don't remember anything until I woke up in Germany, even though I know I was in a hospital in Afghanistan for a while." He finishes off his drink and holds the empty glass out to Clint, who eyeballs him for a moment before getting up to refill it. "You guys know I was a sniper. We worked in two-man teams, and I'd known Dave - my spotter - for years. We'd been through everything together. There were even a few times when I spent my leave with his family, after I'd lost mine. He trusted me to watch his back, and I ... " He takes another sip, too fast, and his eyes water.

Steve reaches out and takes his glass away, and Bucky doesn't protest. "There was nothing you could have done," Steve says softly. "I know you don't believe me right now, but it wasn't your fault. You were trapped, and any longer and you would've died too."

"And that," Clint says, "would have been unacceptable, because you're one of the most awesome people I know. And I live in a building full of superheroes."

Bucky chokes on a laugh. "So, yeah, that's it. I still can't explain why Stark touching the arm got to me, though. It's not like I'd forgotten, no matter how hard I tried."

Clint shrugs. "You can't control what triggers you. I lose my shit every time I see someone on his knees, which let me tell you is really inconvenient when you're in the mood for - "

"Clint!" Phil snaps.

"What?" Clint asks innocently. "I could've been about to say Japanese food. Or ... push-ups."

Phil tries to hold onto his stern expression, but it's only a matter of seconds before he cracks and starts chuckling. Bucky glances at Steve, and he can practically see the wheels turning before - "Oh!" Steve says. Next to him, Clint starts laughing so hard that he topples over and lands halfway in Bucky's lap.

Bucky smiles, shaking his head at this lunatic who had somehow become his friend. "Thanks," he says quietly.

Clint grins back, still shaking with mirth. "Any time."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, I do not advocate getting drunk and spilling your problems to emotionally stunted superheroes instead of seeking professional help. :p But really, I've been trying to be semi-realistic about this whole thing, but for the sake of not having 20 chapters of Bucky in therapy, his recovery is going to be a little unconventional.


	22. Chapter 22

Bucky wakes the next morning to the sound of distant pounding. He looks around blearily. He'd actually made it into the guest suite the night before, rather than co-opting Clint's couch again, and he's wrapped up like a burrito in the most comfortable blanket he's ever felt. Some combination of baring his soul, a couple drinks, and Stark's organic cotton sheets had made him sleep like a baby. The banging starts up again, and Bucky kicks his legs, trying to free himself from the bedding.

"I believe Mr. Stark would like a word, sir," JARVIS says dryly.

"No kidding," Bucky mutters, finally struggling to his feet. "What time is it, anyway?"

"It is currently 6:00 a.m.," JARVIS answers. "Mr. Stark tends to lose time when working on a project. I convinced him to wait until a somewhat reasonable hour to wake you."

"You're my favorite, JARVIS," Bucky says. He pulls his jeans on, still struggling with the button even as he throws open the door. "What?" he barks at a startled-looking Stark.

"Bucky! Hello, good morning. I have something for you." The billionaire is bouncing on his toes in excitement. He starts to reach for Bucky, then seems to think better of it and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Come on; I've got to show you."

"Stark - " Bucky says.

"Tony," the other man interrupts.

"Tony. It is very early, and I need coffee and a shower before I can even think about dealing with another human being." Bucky frowns down at himself. "I wish I'd brought a change of clothes."

"The shower's stocked," Tony says, "and there's coffee in the workshop. As for clothes ... I've got this. You shower, I'll be back."

Bucky wants to argue, but Tony's all red-eyed and disheveled, a streak of grease smeared across his forehead. Whatever he wants to show Bucky, he's clearly been working on it all night. "Fine," Bucky says with a sigh. "Just give me ten minutes."

It's more like twenty minutes later when Bucky finally forces himself to shut off the water. It had been the best goddamn shower of his life, and he's ready to pack his bags and move into the tower for those massaging jets alone. He wraps a towel around his waist and opens the bathroom door, then jumps because Tony is standing _right there_. "What the - "

"Here," Tony says, thrusting a bundle of fabric at him. "Clothes. They might be a little big, but they'll do for now. C'mon, get dressed."

Bucky takes the clothes and shuts the door in his face. Tony had found pants with a drawstring, so at least they aren't falling off his waist, but they're a few inches too long and pooling on the ground. The plain white T-shirt is loose in the shoulders, worn and comfortable.

He steps back out, and Tony snorts at him. "You look like a little kid playing dress up, but I figured better too big than too small. Now come _on_." He looks like he's barely restraining himself from dragging Bucky from the room.

"All right, all right." Bucky slips into his shoes and follows Tony out the door. "Where'd you get these, anyway?"

"The clothes?" Tony looks a little shifty. "Well. Steve's the only one here who's taller than you, and he was out for a run, so ... "

"You broke into Steve's room? And stole his clothes?" Bucky's voice goes a little high at the end, because oh God, he's wearing Captain America's clothes.

Tony waves him off. "He won't mind."

He's so eager that Bucky's practically jogging to keep up. Despite having been there a couple times already, Bucky's not at all sure that he could find his way to the workshop without taking a wrong turn and somehow ending up in Jersey. When they finally arrive, Tony leads him straight to a long workbench, where he makes a sort of 'ta-da!' gesture with his arms.

Bucky skids to a halt, his breath catching as Tony steps aside. "You actually built me an arm." It looks disturbingly real, apart from the fact that it's a gleaming, polished silver. He reaches out with one fingertip, expecting it to feel hard and cool, like a sculpture made of metal. Instead, it's warm and pliable to the touch, and, when he dares to pick it up, deceptively light.

"Of course I did." Tony sounds affronted. "I said I would. And ... " He shuffles his feet, looking more like a timid schoolboy than a genius billionaire. "I, uh. I've been informed that my usual approach of throwing money at things to make them go away might not work in this situation, though I was going to make the arm anyway, and I need to ... apologize."

He looks like someone's pulling his teeth, and Bucky hides a grin. "You mean Bruce told you that you have to say you're sorry?" he guesses.

"How did you - " Tony shakes his head. "Yes. So I am. Sorry, I mean. It's not like I don't have my own areas that are off limits" - he waves a hand at his glowing chest - "and I should've known better than to get all handsy. Now can we please stop talking about this and get back to my genius feat of engineering here?"

Bucky laughs. "Sure, Tony."

"Great!" Tony snatches the arm away. "So this is going to require some touching, okay?"

"It's fine," Bucky says with a little more bravado than he actually feels. He starts peeling off his shirt. "I wasn't expecting it last time."

Tony shoots him a look that says he doesn't believe him for a second, but he carries on anyway. "Okay, so I can explain how all this works if you want, but I'm pretty sure it would take an advanced course in nano-tech, and even I don't understand some of the medical bits. Er, no offense. Your transcripts were pretty impressive - kudos on that, by the way - but it's all a little more advanced, and anyway I really want to try this thing out sometime today."

It takes Bucky a moment to sort through the babble. He can't decide if he's just been insulted or complimented, but one thing definitely stuck out. "Yeah, about you seeing my college transcripts. And my Army records, apparently."

Tony winces. "Right. Look, we all have enemies. A man who I thought was my friend tried to kill me and take over my company, and since then I've been a little paranoid. I was just trying to look out for Clint, but I ... might have gone a little overboard? Sometimes I forget that other people care about privacy. I've been a public figure since I was born, and I've had people sell stories to the papers about everything from my inventions to the size of my dick, so ... "

Bucky snorts. "That was actually painful for you, wasn't it? Look, I get it, although I'd appreciate you not spying on me in the future. Now show me this genius feat of engineering before you explode."

Tony perks back up, waving the arm around and looking more than a little like a mad scientist. Despite his assurances that it's too complicated to explain, he can't seem to help himself, and Bucky sits back and lets the technobabble wash over him. It's a nice distraction, right up until the moment Tony advances on him with the arm. He stiffens, and Tony backs away in concern.

"Hey, it's okay," Tony says, clearly trying his best to be soothing. It's a pretty sad attempt, but the humor of it is enough to make Bucky relax. "It's not going to hurt at all."

"I know," Bucky says. "It's not that. Just do it." He turns his head away, focusing on a dented Iron Man suit on the other side of the room. Even though he knows he might need to understand how to do this some day, it's just ... too much.

At first, it's sort of anticlimactic. Tony slots the arm into place, which Bucky barely registers except for a bit of pressure. A couple seconds pass, and then - "Shit!" Bucky whips his head around to stare at the artificial hand.

Tony's holding a needle, which he's apparently just jabbed Bucky with, and cackling gleefully. "Go on, try it out."

The fingers had curled protectively when Tony stabbed him, but now the arm is just lying there, motionless. "How do I ... ?"

"This might sound really unhelpful," Tony says, "but just ... do it. It'll become more instinctive as you get used to it, but for now just think about moving it."

"Yeah," Bucky mutters. "Real helpful." He concentrates on the fingers again, mentally shouting _move, damn it_ , and frowning in consternation when nothing happens. "What the - "

"Here," Tony says suddenly. "Think fast." He flings something at Bucky, and the arm comes up, catching a ball of paper before it can bounce off his head. "See? Don't try so hard. It'll come."

Bucky looks down at the paper wadded up in the silver hand, then at Tony's smug grin, and fires it back at him, pelting Tony right in the nose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized after I posted the last chapter that Clint's comment about people on their knees might be read as a reference to sexual assault, and that is not at all what I was aiming for. I was thinking of that scene from the Avengers where Loki forced everyone to kneel, and I thought he's probably the kind of megalomaniac who likes making his minions bow every time they approach him. Just thought I'd clear that up in case anyone was concerned.


	23. Chapter 23

Bucky and Tony have progressed to playing catch with a squishy blue stress ball when a bellow comes from outside the workshop.

"Tony! Why are my clothes all over the floor?" Steve bursts through the door, zeroing in on Tony with a scowl. "I know it was you; no one else would - " He catches sight of Bucky then, silver hand upraised to grab the ball. His eyes flit from the hand to Bucky's feet, mostly hidden by the overlong pants, and he trips over a utility cart.

The cart teeters on two wheels, sending screwdrivers and wrenches flying, and Bucky darts out to catch Steve before he faceplants on the floor. He ends up with both hands wrapped around Steve's biceps, and both of them freeze and stare down at where metal rests on flesh.

"It's warm," Steve says, wide-eyed. He reaches up to peel the fingers off his arm, gathering Bucky's hand in his own. "Can I ... ?"

"Yeah," Bucky says hoarsely. "Go ahead." He sneaks a glance at Tony, who has wandered off to pick up his tools but is still clearly watching them over his shoulder and snickering.

Steve runs a fingertip across Bucky's palm, and he shivers. He can feel the heat of Steve's hand, the slight dampness where Steve's been sweating. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he examines each finger, bending them one at a time.

"This is amazing," Steve breathes. "It feels so real. If it wasn't for the color - "

"Working on it," Tony calls from across the room. "Had to get the mechanics down first, but I should be able to make a skin."

Steve twitches a little when Tony speaks, but doesn't let go. Bucky glares at Tony over Steve's shoulder and mouths _asshole_. Tony just grins.

Steve's hand trails up to Bucky's elbow, and he's suddenly reminded that he never put a shirt back on. He grits his teeth. He's going to have to get used to it. They're all going to see eventually, and he let Tony touch him without freaking out. Steve's fingers drift up to his shoulder, and Bucky stops breathing. It's been a long time since anyone touched him gently, never mind someone as attractive as Steve, and the combination of terror and arousal is making him lightheaded. Steve's fingers ghost across the place where the new arm meets what's left of Bucky's limb. "Does it hurt?"

"Nope," Bucky squeaks. He clears his throat. Tony has a sudden coughing fit that sounds suspiciously like laughter. "I mean, no, not at all."

"Huh," Steve says. "It's kind of beautiful."

"Thank you," Bucky and Tony say in unison. Bucky shoots Tony another glare. Privacy. He will never have it again.

"So what's it made out of?" Steve asks.

He's still sort of caressing Bucky's upper arm, and it takes him a moment to put words together. "No, no, do not ask that, please. I already had to sit through 30 minutes of how Tony's the greatest genius to ever genius, and how he created a new composite in a single night, and soon amputees everywhere will be worshiping at his feet."

"I don't think that's quite how I put it," Tony says dryly.

Steve laughs. "Well, it's pretty impressive." He drops his hand. Bucky does not at all feel bereft.

"All right, you two," Tony says loudly, making them both jump. "Time to get out of my workshop. Things to do, naps to take." He makes a shooing motion at them.

Steve rolls his eyes. Bucky opens his mouth to say thank you, but Tony cuts him off, throwing his shirt at him and pointing at the door. "Nope. Go."

Bucky trails Steve into an elevator, not really sure where he's going but happy enough to tag along. Steve's still a little sweaty from his run, and his shirt is clinging very distractingly to his chest. Bucky looks down at the t-shirt he's just slipped back on and frowns. It's hanging limply on his shoulders, the hem nearly reaching past his thighs. He really does look like a little kid playing dress up. Why can't he ever run into Steve when he's well-groomed?

"So ... " Steve rocks on his heels, looking oddly distressed. His eyes keep drifting to Bucky's oversized pants.

 _Maybe he's just trying to ignore how ridiculous you are_ , Bucky tells himself, crossing his arms defensively.

"Breakfast?" Steve blurts out as the elevator opens. "I uh, I need to shower, but there's a place with these great bagels that I was thinking about all the way home, and - unless you have other plans?"

Breakfast? Is this a date? No ... people don't go on dates to breakfast. Do they? And shit, he can't go out dressed like this. "Yes!" he says, just as Steve's starting to look a little crestfallen. "Just let me go - " do something with my hair, find new clothes, ask someone what the hell is going on here - "say goodbye to Clint, and I'll meet you at your door."

Steve barely has time to agree before Bucky's sprinting down the hallway to Clint's apartment. He bangs on the door until Clint answers, bleary-eyed and with some truly impressive bedhead. "What the fuck?" Clint grumbles.

Bucky shoves his way inside. "Shirt. I need a shirt. And pants. And possibly some advice."

There's a long pause behind him. "What? I don't ... am I still asleep? Why are you - holy shit, you have an arm! Phil! Phil, get in here!"

There's a crash, and then Phil comes running out of the bedroom, a gun in one hand and his pants in the other. Bucky takes a moment to thank god that Phil apparently sleeps in boxers. "What's wrong?" Phil asks, scanning the apartment on high alert.

"Bucky has an arm!" Clint says, gesturing excitedly.

Phil lowers the gun in disbelief.

Bucky smacks Clint on the back of the head. "Can we focus here? I need clothes that don't make me look like an idiot. Right now."

Phil, because he is the only one of these people who is remotely sane or helpful, just blinks a few times and gestures toward the bedroom. "In here. I probably have something that will fit you."

 


	24. Chapter 24

Bucky trails Phil into the bedroom, leaving a befuddled Clint behind. ("But ... you have an arm!") He watches in amusement as Phil stashes his gun under the mattress before throwing open the closet door. The closet is the size of Bucky's entire bedroom, filled with row after row of suits, meticulously arranged by color. The variety of blues alone is mind-boggling.

Phil turns, his lips curving at Bucky's gobsmacked expression. "What is it that you need?"

Bucky shrugs helplessly. "I don't know! Steve asked me to breakfast, and I don't have clothes with me. What do people wear on breakfast dates? Does breakfast even count as a date? Maybe it's just a buddy thing."

Phil shoves aside a row of vests and disappears into the closet. "It counts as a date if you want it to," he replies, his voice slightly muffled. "And believe me, Steve doesn't look at you like a buddy."

"I don't know," Bucky says in despair. "This is Captain America we're talking about. There's no way he's into guys. And even if he is, why would he want - "

"You can just stop whatever self-deprecating crap you're thinking right now," Clint says from behind him. "Steve's hot for you, okay? I'm not letting you talk yourself out of this, even if I am a little insulted that you're letting Phil dress you instead of me."

"Yeah ... " Bucky drawls, pointedly looking at Clint's underwear and ragged tee ensemble. "What was I thinking?"

"You can't wear a suit to breakfast!" Clint insists.

Phil emerges with a dress shirt in each hand. If Bucky squints, he can almost make out two different shades of grey. "He can't wear shorts and flip-flops, either," Phil says, holding one shirt to Bucky's chin.

"Well obviously," Clint retorts. "It's too cold for flip-flops."

"Just because you - " Phil begins.

"Boys."

All three men jump and spin around to see Natasha standing in the doorway, hands on hips and looking supremely unimpressed.

"Steve is wearing jeans and a T-shirt, so you are absolutely not going to dress up," Natasha says. She shoves past them, making a beeline for the top drawer of Phil's dresser, which turns out to be full of sweaters. "Blue or grey?"

"How do you know what Steve's wearing?" Bucky demands.

"Never mind that," Clint says. "How did you know where Phil keeps his sweaters?"

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Blue or grey?"

The three of them converge on Bucky, peering into his eyes. He takes a step back in alarm and yelps when he kicks the bed.

"His eyes are blue," Clint says helpfully.

"Hmm. But the grey might make them stand out more," Phil points out.

"True," Natasha agrees. "And Steve is wearing blue. We wouldn't want them to match; that's too much cute for me to handle."

"How do you _know_ this?" Bucky asks. "Seriously, I know you're some kind of spy, but - and why are you even helping me? I kind of thought you hated me."

Natasha ignores him. "Are you wearing the arm?"

"I don't ... what?" Bucky looks down at the gleaming silver. He'd almost forgotten he's wearing it, what with all the other weirdness. "Should I? I'm not really used to it yet, but people would probably stare more at a one-armed guy than a guy with a silver hand. I think."

"If you're concerned about staring, you probably shouldn't be going out with Steve," Phil says. "But people might be less likely to realize you're the same person as in the photos, since you only had one arm then."

"Leave it," Natasha says decisively. She tugs at Bucky's shirt. "Take this off; I want to see the grey on."

Bucky tugs the t-shirt over his head, grumbling, "I swear I've been half-naked in front of more people the last few days than in the past ten years."

"Aw, don't be shy," Clint says with a shit-eating grin. "We're just looking, not touching. Don't want to make Steve jealous."

Natasha throws the grey sweater at Bucky's head, and he pulls it on with a sigh of defeat. It's a little snug, but unbelievably soft, and it falls a bit past his wrists. He could probably tuck his hand inside the sleeve if he needs to.

"Nice," Natasha says approvingly. "Now, pants." She pulls open another drawer, ignoring Clint's noise of disbelief, and rummages until she finds a pair of jeans.

She stares at Bucky impatiently until he gives in and kicks off his borrowed sweatpants. "This is verging on sexual harassment," he complains, shimmying into the jeans. They're almost indecently tight. He and Phil are the same height, but apparently -

"Your ass is a bit more ...round," Clint muses. "Not that that's a bad thing."

"Oh my god," Bucky moans. "What is the matter with you people?"

"This will do," Natasha announces. "Now go; don't be late."

"Yeah," Clint says. "Steve's probably already standing at the door with a bouquet of flowers or something."

"Oh my god," Bucky says again. He might be hyperventilating. "You know, I think I've changed my mind. Tony probably has more work to do on the arm. Or, uh ... I'm pretty sure I left the stove on yesterday. I should go check."

"Nope," Clint says, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the door. "You'll be fine. Steve is probably just as nervous as you are, so just calm down and be yourself."

Bucky tries to dig in his heels, but Clint's deceptively strong. "Myself? Myself is a mess. Myself is not good enough for Captain America."

"Will you stop that?" Clint says, exasperated. "He's the one who asked you out. And you have to stop thinking of him as Captain America. It's just Steve. You know Steve. He's shy and quiet and kind of a giant dork, and you're the first person outside of the Avengers he's made an effort to talk to since he's been back. Do you think he'd be doing this if he didn't really want to?"

"No," Bucky admits grudgingly.

"Okay. So can you quit being a teenage girl and go have breakfast with the man already?" Clint gives him another shove toward the door.

"I really hate you," Bucky says.

"Love you too, buddy." Clint grins. "Now get out of here."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I made you wait forever and it's not even the breakfast scene. I've been making myself crazy writing it and re-writing it, and I finally decided to at least post this much. I'm kind of a sucker for the oblivious thing. Also, I apparently decided that stripping Bucky is Natasha's way of saying 'Let's be friends.'


	25. Chapter 25

When Bucky knocks on Steve's door (having narrowly escaped the clutches of a scissors-wielding Natasha, who was eying his shaggy hair), it flies open immediately. He has to smile, picturing Steve eagerly standing in the entryway like a puppy waiting for its human to come home. Steve grins back shyly, his hands in his pockets as he rocks on his heels. He couldn't be more visibly nervous if he had a sign on his forehead, and strangely, that makes Bucky calm. Clint was right; Steve's just as at sea as Bucky right now. They're in this together.

"Hi," Steve says, darting a glance over his shoulder. Bucky can see that the apartment is similar to Phil's, though the walls are still primer grey. "Um, I'd invite you in, but I thought you must be hungry by now. And it's pretty messy. I haven't really had time to - not that you aren't welcome - "

"It's okay," Bucky interrupts. "Maybe you can show me around later. I want to see this diner you were talking about, but I have to warn you, it had better be nicer than that place you sent Clint."

Steve laughs, gesturing Bucky into the hallway as he turns and shuts the door, and Bucky takes a second to enjoy the view. Steve _is_ wearing a blue shirt (is Natasha psychic? Was she lurking in his closet?), but over that is a leather jacket that ticks another box on Bucky's list of fantasies. His hair is spiky and looks a little darker than usual, and Bucky wants to mess it up in the worst way.

"Well," Steve says quietly, "I'm glad I made Clint go there, even if he hated the food. Otherwise I might never have met you."

Bucky ducks his head, because who just _says_ things like that? "Yeah. I'm pretty happy about that too."

They trail a group of businessmen across the lobby and out of the tower, and Bucky's a little staggered at the chaos of the city around them. He'd almost forgotten that the place wasn't just a big apartment building. It's cool and rainy outside but no less crowded for it, and after a couple blocks it seems that no one's going to recognize Steve among the masses. Bucky can't say he's not relieved - he's not ashamed of who he is, and he'd have to be crazy to be embarrassed of Steve, but he's not sure he's quite ready to become a media sensation.

"I don't see any reporters," Steve says when he catches Bucky looking around. "They don't actually follow me all the time. I go for runs in the early mornings, but other than that I don't leave the tower much, and so many people come and go from there every day." He shrugs. "It was just bad luck that someone recognized me on the bike."

"It's fine," Bucky says, even though he's not convinced. Anyone with a cell phone - basically, _everyone_ \- could be taking a picture, and he wonders if Steve's expecting a television camera and a boom mic. Still, he's made his choice. "I mean, I can't say I loved being on the news, but I don't have any family to protect or anything, so ... "

"That doesn't mean you won't miss your privacy," Steve points out.

Bucky laughs. "Pretty sure I gave up on privacy the day I met Clint. Tony knows more about my life than I do, and Clint, Phil and Natasha dressed me this morning. And did you know Natasha knew what you were going to wear today?"

Steve shakes his head. "I've given up asking how she does things. But um ... they did a good job. I mean, you look nice." 

"Thanks! You too." And now Bucky's so confused, because this sure sounds like date conversation, but the last thing he wants is to read things wrong and make Steve uncomfortable. He's about to finally open his mouth and ask, but Steve grabs his wrist and drags him toward a storefront.

"Here," Steve says cheerfully. "I found this place by accident on a run one day, and it's great. I don't know if the owners don't recognize me or just don't care, but I've been here a few times and they always leave me alone." 

He leads Bucky inside, hand still wrapped around his wrist. They're _this_ close to holding hands (would holding hands mean it is a date? Do grown men even hold hands?) but Steve doesn't even seem to notice.

The place is kind of a dive, honestly. It looks clean enough, but the floor is scuffed and fading, and the laminate countertops remind him of his own aging kitchen. The clientele looks even older than the decor, which is the only reason Bucky can understand how the place is still open. 

"It's not fancy," Steve says worriedly, like he's suddenly realized he might have made a misstep. "But I like it here. I've gone out to eat with the team a few times, but Tony always picks the place, and it's all sushi and caviar, and one time I had this cake with lavender in it - I didn't even know you could eat lavender! - and I felt so out of place."

He trails off, frowning unhappily, and Bucky's not having that. "It's fine, Steve," he says, tugging his arm so that Steve follows him into a booth. A woman - white-haired and tiny, and she can't be a day under eighty - pushes open the door from the kitchen and starts slowly making her way toward them. It hits Bucky then, that all the people in here are Steve's actual age, and he snickers.

"What?" Steve asks. 

Bucky waves him off. It's funny, but it's kind of sad, too, that Steve doesn't feel comfortable out in the world. Bucky had thought it was bad trying to acclimate to Afghanistan; he has no idea how Steve's coping with the knowledge that this should've been his future.

The old lady (Sandy, according to her peeling name tag) finally arrives, taking their orders without so much as glancing at Steve. When she reaches for Bucky's menu, though, she winks and grins cheekily before walking off, and oh yeah, she totally knows who Steve is.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Steve asks. He's absentmindedly shredding a napkin, a little pile of white paper forming in front of him. Bucky can practically feel the waves of anxiety pouring off him.

"I told you, it's fine. I wouldn't want to go anywhere that you're not comfortable." Bucky reaches out and covers Steve's hands with his own. (He has to tamp down the urge to dart a glance around the room first, because not all old men are as open-minded as Steve, and Jesus, he really needs to get over this.) "Can I ask you a question?"

Steve stares at their hands, transfixed, then seems to shake himself out of it. "Of course. Anything."

Bucky takes a deep breath. He's about 90% sure at this point, and even if he's wrong, he thinks Steve won't hold it against him. "Is this a date?" 

Steve twitches like he's thinking of running away, and Bucky's heart stops. He's about to play it off as a joke, something, but then Steve seems to gather himself. He meets Bucky's eyes, straightening his shoulders and clenching his jaw like he's about to go into battle (Bucky wonders crazily if he's imagining himself holding the shield). 

"Yes." Steve's ears are a little pink, but he sounds earnest and determined, and Bucky thinks, _there's Captain America_. It's a whole different kind of courage from throwing yourself into battle, one that Bucky's still struggling with, but Steve had found it in himself to be honest and make the first move, and Bucky's ridiculously proud.

"At least," Steve continues, seeming to deflate a little, "I wanted it to be. I thought you knew."

"I hoped," Bucky says. "Everyone told me it was, but I wasn't sure." And Clint's going to be insufferable, but who gives a damn - he's on a date with Captain America!

"Oh." Steve looks relieved. "I've never done this before, you know. And everyone says that dinner and a movie is traditional, but I thought, we wouldn't be able to talk during a movie, and I don't think you'd like one of Tony's fancy restaurants any more than I do, so ... Was I wrong?"

"No," Bucky insists. "This is great." And it is. It's a little weird, for sure, but nothing about either of them is at all conventional anyway.

"Good. I um ... might have jumped the gun a little, though," Steve admits. "I mean, I was going to ask you to dinner, just somewhere less formal, but then I was afraid I'd lose my nerve and I blurted out that thing about breakfast." He shakes his head.

"I'm glad you did," Bucky says. "If I'd had to wait around until dinner, I'd probably be a nervous wreck. A bald nervous wreck, because for some reason Natasha has a serious hate on for my hair."

Steve grins, squeezing Bucky's hand gently. "I like it. I think you should let it grow."

"I agree," Sandy chimes in, and holy shit, how had the old lady managed to sneak up on them? They jump apart, and she rolls her eyes. "Just thought I'd let you know your breakfast is almost ready. Carry on, boys."

She strolls away, and Bucky and Steve stare at each other, wide-eyed, then simultaneously dissolve into laughter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a continuation of the date, now that everyone knows it is a date.
> 
> So I was thinking about doing the tumblr thing (I know, I'm only like a decade late), and I literally wasted three hours trying to pick a theme and never got anywhere. It's a whole new level of sad.


	26. Chapter 26

Bucky hadn't really paid much attention while Steve was ordering, so he's dumbfounded when _three trays_ of food arrive, courtesy of Sandy directing two young men in white chef's coats. After it's all unloaded and they're left in peace again, he stares, trying to take it all in. He'd ordered pancakes and coffee, but Steve has that plus eggs and bacon, some type of fried potato, and a few different kinds of bread. It probably takes a lot to keep up that much muscle mass, but holy crap.

Steve catches his look and blushes a little. "I eat a lot. My metabolism is, uh ... " He waves a hand helplessly. "Not normal. Sorry?"

Bucky shakes himself out of it and laughs. "No, I get it. I'm just jealous. And I thought you said something about bagels?"

"Yeah, they're .... here!" Steve unearths the plate and pushes it toward Bucky. "Try one."

Bucky takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. "It's good. Very ... bagel-y." Steve pouts. It's so adorably hilarious that Bucky nearly chokes to death. "Sorry," Bucky continues. "It's been years since I had a bagel, so I don't have much to compare it to. And my appetite is still not all that great, after ... everything." Truthfully, it had taken weeks for him to keep anything substantial down, something about all the medication messing with his system, and then he'd just gotten used to not eating much. He's pretty sure this is not the time for that kind of sharing, though.

Steve looks sympathetic. "I get that. I was kind of the same way at first. Everything was so different, and nothing tasted right, but I didn't have much choice if I wanted to keep in fighting shape. Anyway, some of it's really good. Like these." He stabs his fork into a a mountain of pancakes, which look to be covered in chocolate and whipped cream. "I never even had anything like this for dessert, let alone breakfast."

He looks so excited that Bucky grins, his little bout of self-pity already half-forgotten. It's just impossible to be in a bad mood around Steve. "I don't know how you do it," Bucky says. "Stay so cheerful all the time."

"I wasn't, at first," Steve admits. "I was pretty miserable to be around. Having the team helped, though, and Bruce is actually the one who convinced me to leave the tower sometimes. He suggested I find some way to clear my head - he meditates, but I don't have the patience for it - and that's when I started running. Maybe ... " He peeks at Bucky hesitantly. "Maybe you should try talking to him."

Bucky has a tried and tested rant for anyone who tries to talk him into therapy. It involves a lot of cursing and throwing things and generally being a dick, and he's not exactly proud of it. He trusts Steve, and Steve already knows more about him than nearly anyone in the world, despite the short time he's known him. But ... "Uh, you want me to talk to the Hulk about my feelings?"

Steve chokes on a laugh. "That's kind of the whole point. He has to be aware of his feelings all the time, and he's gotten good at dealing with them. Plus he's really patient. He'd have to be, to put up with Tony."

"Aw, don't front," Bucky says. "You know you love Tony."

Steve makes this great _you're right but I hate it_ face. "He's growing on me. Anyway, we shouldn't be talking about all this serious stuff, should we?"

Bucky shrugs. "When have we ever done anything normal? I think it's good to get it out there. But yeah, let's talk about something else. You have any plans for today?"

"Not really," Steve says. He stares down at his mostly empty plates. "I don't know if I'm supposed to say, but ... I don't want this to be over yet."

"Say whatever you want," Bucky tells him. "Seriously, it's refreshing. And I don't want it to be over either. So, is there anything you've been wanting to do?"

Steve thinks for a minute. "Well, this is kind of weird, but ... Tony keeps giving me hell for not decorating my apartment. I wouldn't let him do it for me, but I don't know where to go or what to do with it, and it's just really depressing in there."

Yeah, Bucky knows how that goes. "I'm not exactly an interior designer, but we can give it a shot. I'm not too sure where to go either, but I guess we can Google it."

Steve whips out his phone. "I know how to do that!" he says proudly.

Bucky's too busy dying from the cute to answer, but someone else does it for him.

"Oh, I know the perfect place," Sandy says happily. "It's a flea market, but they have some lovely antiques. I think it'd be just the thing. Here." She rips a page off her order pad and scribbles down an address. "Two strapping fellows like you could walk there with no trouble."

"How does she do that?" Bucky hisses as she walks away. "Do you think she's like, secretly Natasha's grandmother?" Steve laughs so hard that he starts crying, and Bucky kicks him under the table. "I'm serious, man. That was creepy."

"Well," Steve says through his giggles, "at least we have somewhere to start. What do you say?"

"What the hell," Bucky says. "Not like this day can get any stranger."

Steve pulls out his wallet, and they have a brief squabble over who's going to pay. ("I invited you!" "I'm not a girl!") Steve wins, because he's a big cheater and employs the puppy-dog eyes, but it turns out that it doesn't matter. He waves Sandy over to ask for their bill, and she steadfastly refuses to charge them.

"But ... " Steve turns the puppy eyes on her, and Bucky hides a smile. "I can't just take all this for free! Especially since I ... "

"Eat like a pig?" Bucky offers helpfully. Steve glares at him.

Sandy hikes her flowery apron out of the way and plants her hands on her hips. "Now look here, young man. After everything you've done for this city - "

"You know who I am?" Steve asks incredulously. Bucky wraps his arms around his stomach, trying to hold in the laughter.

"I'm old, not senile," Sandy retorts. "And hasn't anyone ever told you not to interrupt your elders?" Steve looks appropriately chastised, and she carries on. "I told everyone in here to leave you to your date in peace" - Steve's mouth drops open, and Bucky hides his face - "though Lord knows why you'd choose this old place. Looking at you handsome young men is payment enough."

Steve blushes, and Bucky decides this is the best day of his life.

Sandy starts gathering up their plates. "I'll not hear any more arguing. Now go on, before the weather turns. Scram."

They scram.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so this was supposed to be fluffy, and then serious conversation happened. I don't even know. And poor Bruce might as well go ahead and get that psychology degree, since I seem determined to have everyone go to him with their problems.


	27. Chapter 27

The flea market is a bit of a hike, though Bucky's sure Steve could run the distance without breaking a sweat. Bucky, on the other hand, is feeling the strain in his calves and seriously regretting all that time he'd spent hiding in his apartment instead of going to the gym.

"This is really something," Steve says, peering through the window of an art gallery. He'd spent the walk alternating between checking the map on his phone and staring wide-eyed at their surroundings, and Bucky had spent it trying not to stare too obviously at the dazzling grin on Steve's face. He'd mostly failed. "What do you think it is?" Steve continues, his nose practically pressed to the glass.

Bucky leans in, frowning at the twisted mass of wires and metal. "It looks like Tony got drunk and had an accident with a welder."

Steve looks torn between laughing and frowning disapprovingly. "We shouldn't make fun of someone's art. But ... it really is pretty awful, isn't it?"

Bucky snickers. "I dunno, man. I don't get modern art."

"I went to art school for a year," Steve says wistfully. "But I mostly did drawings, and ... you probably already know all this. Sometimes I forget my whole life is an open book."

Bucky wants to point out that there are also about a dozen movies, but that wouldn't be very helpful. And Steve looks sad now, which is just wrong. "Yeah," he agrees, nudging Steve with his shoulder. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to hear about it. I'm sure you have some great stories that the books didn't tell."

And oh, the grin is back. "Maybe," Steve says. "But we should talk about you. It's not fair that I can't just open a book and read your history."

Bucky leads them away from the gallery, trying to stall while he thinks of a version of his life story that isn't a total mood killer. Nearly 20 years of boring normalcy followed by a decade of utter shit, and he's not sure he's in a place yet where he can sugar-coat it.

Steve seems to catch on to his mood. "We don't have to," he says gently. "I know things haven't been so great."

There's a long pause while they follow a gaggle of tourists across the street, then Bucky finally speaks. "Nah. Like you said, it's only fair. I just don't know where to start."

 

"Maybe ... Clint mentioned that you finished school while you were in the Army. What did you study?"

"Math." Steve makes a sort of _ew_ face, and Bucky laughs. "I know, I get that a lot. I liked it, though. I don't know what I thought I was going to do with it, cause I didn't want to teach, but it was interesting." He shrugs. "Came in handy during sniper school, at least."

"Speaking of which," Steve says, glancing around conspiratorially, "don't tell them this, but I overheard Clint and Tony having an argument about you. Clint wants to take you out and buy you a new rifle as your welcome-to-the-Avengers gift, but Tony insists he's going to make you 'the most badass gun ever.'"

"Oh my god," Bucky says with a shudder that's only half faked. "Can you imagine? Tony would probably build a sentient rifle that'll argue with me over the best shot to take." He shakes his head. "I still can't believe you guys want me to be an Avenger."

"Why not?" Steve asks, looking honestly confused. "Everyone already likes you. Ooh, we'll have to come up with a code name for you!"

Bucky laughs. "No, we really don't."

"People are going to notice there's an extra Avenger," Steve points out. "And unless you really want to go by Bucky ... "

Bucky side-eyes him. "Are you mocking my nickname, Steve Rogers? That's not very Captain-ly of you."

Steve shrugs. "My mama always said I could be a little shit sometimes."

Bucky laughs so hard that he nearly trips over his own feet. He opens his mouth to tell Steve that he totally agrees, but he's interrupted by their arrival at the market and Steve's soft "wow."

It's packed, people winding their way around tables and displays under row after row of white tents. In one quick glance, Bucky sees everything from costume jewelry to antique cameras to Persian rugs. "Wow is right. Do you have any idea what you're looking for?"

"Not really," Steve admits. "I guess we could just ... wander?"

So they wander. Bucky gets distracted by a crate full of old punk albums, and Steve drifts away for a few minutes and comes back with a phonograph and a fedora, smiling a little guiltily. Bucky laughs. "I like it," he says, plunking the hat on Steve's head. "No one said you have to go completely modern." And now he's having some inappropriate fantasies about Steve in that fedora and a set of suspenders, and whew, when did it get so warm out here? "You look pretty hot like this."

Steve blushes. "You always just say what you're thinking. Is everyone like that now?" 

"Nope," Bucky says, grinning. "You just got lucky."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "I think I did."

They walk in silence for a moment, Steve doing more people-watching than shopping. Bucky sees him do a double take when a woman with a purple mohawk jogs by, and his eyes widen comically at the sight of a teenage boy in a plaid skirt. Then two men walk past, both about Bucky's age and dressed like businessmen, and they're holding hands. Steve chews on his lip and darts a glance at Bucky. He's expecting a barrage of questions or some kind of comment about the old days, so he's more than a little surprised when Steve reaches out and takes his hand.

Well. That answers that question.

Bucky's never held hands with a guy before - or anyone at all, since high school - and he's a little nervous. He was already a bit overwhelmed by all the people, constantly reminding himself that he's back in America and doesn't need to be on high alert. The last time he was in a busy market, three Afghani civilians had been killed by suicide bombers.  It's strange to think that's something Steve has no experience with, and in fact he seems to enjoy being lost in the crowd.

"I didn't really think this through," Steve says. "I saw this great chair over there" - he flaps his free hand behind him - "and some amazing paintings, but how am I supposed to get them home? Do you think they deliver?"

"I have no idea," Bucky replies. "Although, you could always call Tony and have him send a truck or something. I mean, if you're gonna be friends with a billionaire, you might as well take advantage of it."

Steve looks resigned. "I guess. I just know he's going to find some way to make fun of me."

"Aw," Bucky says, "Don't worry. I'll protect you from Tony." He laughs when Steve rolls his eyes. "Now come on. I see some suspenders over there that I think you need to try on."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my best friends is a math teacher. I'm usually the one with the ew face. :) 
> 
> So I thought I'd take sort of a poll here. I've been debating with myself for days about whether to have something interrupt the date. On the one hand, it's the first date and it'd be nice if it went smoothly. On the other, this fic was supposed to be all about protective!Bucky, and it does seem like just his luck that Steve would run off and do something stupidly heroic. Do you guys think I should be nice to them, or not?


	28. Chapter 28

On closer inspection, the display Bucky spotted turns out to be a nightmarish jumble of scarves and cardigans and organic cotton bags, and he drags Steve to a stumbling halt. "No," he says firmly. "Walk away."

Steve screws his face up in confusion. "Okay? I thought you wanted to look at - "

"Nope," Bucky says. "Not here." There _are_ suspenders, but they're all printed with skulls or rainbow stripes or hideous floral patterns, and just ... no. The teenager manning the booth looks like a cross between an accountant and a refugee from an emo band, and he appears just as disdainful of Bucky as Bucky is of him.

"What was that all about?" Steve asks, laughing as Bucky forces him around a corner and under a deserted tent.

Bucky shakes his head in despair. "You have so much to learn. And Christ, I feel old. I want to shake my fist and say something about young people these days. I'm probably only like, a few years off from being that kid's dad."

Steve snorts. It's somehow simultaneously rude and adorable. "I don't think you're allowed to feel old. I'm almost a hundred."

"Psh. That doesn't count. And anyway, look at this baby face." Bucky pinches Steve's cheek, and Steve blushes and swats his hand away. "What are you,12?"

Steve frowns. "I don't know ... I guess in actual, non-frozen years, I'm ... 27? Is that a problem?"

Bucky wants to laugh, but Steve looks genuinely concerned, like _that's_ going to be the thing that puts him off. "Steve, if you're willing to look past all my flaws" - he holds up his mechanical hand - "then I'm certainly not going to dump you because of your age."

Steve takes his hand, running long fingers over the silver joints. "I don't think this is a flaw. I told you, I think it's beautiful. Are you going to let Tony make that skin for it?"

Bucky hums. "I don't know. I mean, it'd be nice not to have people stare, but I have the feeling that if I start running around with a bunch of superheroes, that's kind of going to be a moot point. Anyway, it's weird, but ... as much as I hate the reminder, it would feel sort of wrong to pretend it never happened."

"Makes sense." Steve nods. "Like people keep telling me, there's nothing wrong with remembering the past, as long as you don't forget to live in the present. You can honor your men and be an Avenger at the same time."

"When did you get so smart, whippersnapper?" Bucky teases.

Steve elbows him gently. "Come on; we're supposed to be shopping. If it rains any harder, I'm afraid they'll shut this place down."

Bucky peers up at the sky. It's gone an ominous grey, and what had been a drizzle has turned to a strong shower that's starting to chase people away. "Shit. We need to figure out what to do about your stuff. Why don't you go pay, and I'll call Clint and see about transporting it?"

Steve agrees and darts away. Bucky enjoys the view until he's out of sight, then pulls out his phone. Knowing Stark, the thing's probably waterproof to a thousand feet, but he's not going to venture into the rain until he has to.

Clint answers on the second ring. "Why are you calling me? Please tell me there's not some kind of disaster. I know I'm an asshole, but even I wouldn't wish for a supervillain on your first date."

Bucky laughs. "No villains. Steve found some furniture and stuff he wants to buy, but we don't know how to get it to the tower. Do flea markets deliver?"

"Don't normal people rent vans and shit?" Clint asks.

"Don't you live with a billionaire?" Bucky retorts.

"Fair." There's murmuring as Clint talks to someone in the background, and then, "Tony says to give his name and tell them they _will_ deliver."

"That seems like kind of a dick move," Bucky says.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to involve Tony Stark," Clint points out.

"Yeah, okay," Bucky concedes. "I've gotta go track down Steve. Tell Tony if these guys want tipped, he's taking care of it."

Clint hangs up with a cackle, and Bucky sighs and steps out into the rain. He's soaked immediately, hair dripping in his eyes and Phil's sweater clinging to his skin. It's freezing, and he has no idea which way Steve went, though it can't be that hard to track down over six feet of blonde beefcake. He backtracks past the hipster booth, takes a right turn at a table covered in glass beads, and nearly falls over a shitload of Avengers merchandise.

"Well this can't be legal," he mutters, poking at a little Iron Man figurine. There's everything from T-shirts and action figures to backpacks and posters, and he's absolutely positive that if Stark knew his face was on this stuff, he'd be demanding a take of it.

"You like the Avengers?" the man behind the table asks. He's probably in his 50s, a Hulk shirt stretched tight across his potbelly. "Everything ten percent off today."

Bucky shakes his head and starts to decline, but then he catches sight of a pile of sweatshirts, and well ... it is pretty cold out here. There's one for each Avenger, and he has to grin when he unearths a dark blue hoodie, the back emblazoned with Steve's shield. He kind of wants to buy them all, but he's already not sure he can make rent next month, and the bastard is charging 70 bucks per shirt. Still ... "I'll take this one." He thrusts the Captain America hoodie at the guy and pulls out his wallet.

"Cap fan, eh?" the man says.

Bucky snickers. "Something like that." He hands over his credit card, trying not to wince at the thought of his bill. Well, he doesn't eat that much anyway.

The shirt, when he pulls it on, is warm and soft (although for 70 goddamn dollars it oughta be made of cashmere or something), and he feels like the world's biggest dork but also kind of turned on, because _he's wearing Steve's shield_.

"Now if I could just find the idiot," Bucky mutters. "I swear to god, if he's gotten himself kidnapped or something ... "

"Excuse me," someone says from behind him.

Bucky whips around in alarm. He hadn't heard anyone approaching, between the rain and the noise of the crowd, and sloppy, so sloppy; that's the way you get killed ...

"Aren't you Captain America's friend?" the voice asks. "The one from the car chase?"

It's a woman, probably in her 30s and all of five feet tall, but she's right up his personal space, cell phone held out like a microphone. She's videoing him, he realizes. He takes a step back, bumping into another customer. He vaguely registers a male voice cursing, but there's a buzzing in his ears and he can't focus on anything but his sudden rapid breathing. Shit.

"Is it true the two of you spent the night together?" the woman persists. Not just a fan, but a fucking reporter. Great. "Is that why you're wearing his shield? Is Captain America gay?"

Bucky feels sweat running down the back of his neck. Wasn't he freezing a second ago? He tugs at his collar, which suddenly feels two sizes too small.

"Sir?"

The reporter is still pointing her phone at him. He wonders if this video is going to end up on the news later. _Captain America's gay lover has panic attack at flea market_. Just the kind of publicity the Avengers need. What the hell was he thinking? He can't do this. He can't date Steve Rogers or be an Avenger. He can't even handle going out in public like a regular person. There's a small crowd gathering now, the guy from the Avengers booth pointing and saying something loudly, and he can't. He just can't.

Bucky turns and bolts.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! It's finally warm enough here that my parents decided to do a bunch of yard work and home repair, and as they're in their 70s, that means I ended up doing as much of it as I could convince them to stand aside for. Nothing like stubborn old people, I'm telling ya. :)
> 
> Speaking of old people, comics Steve was apparently born in 1920, but movie Steve was born in 1918. (This fic is set in 2012, right after the Avengers movie.) I decided to go with the older version, because Bucky's like 32 here.
> 
> Also, I had sort of a throwaway mention of Bucky looking at punk albums in the last chapter, and then I decided I liked the idea of him having been a punk back in the day and being totally horrified by hipsters.
> 
> Finally, now that this note is longer than the chapter, you guys were pretty evenly split on whether I should screw with the date. I decided an attack was sort of predictable, but I tend to lose it in crowds myself, and I really don't think Bucky would deal well with being cornered after having misplaced Steve.


	29. Chapter 29

Bucky's lost. It's not his finest moment, but he's been overseas for a decade and he never had much use for Chelsea anyway. Still, he's a grown ass man wandering aimlessly in the rain, having just literally run away from his problems, probably ruining his chances with Steve in the process. He angrily swipes a hand across his eyes, catching cold rain and tears. He should've known better. Everyone he's ever cared for has left or died, and whatever he once had to offer a partner was burned out of him along with his left arm and his ability to cope with everyday life.  
  
He doesn't know how long he's been walking, but his feet are numb and squelching in his shoes. He wonders whether Steve got his furniture, or if the reporter tracked him down. Maybe that video of Bucky running away is already trending online. If Steve is smart, he'll deny knowing him.  
  
"Hey, mister."  
  
Bucky jumps. He'd wandered into a rundown industrial area, and it's been a while since he's seen any humans. He looks back, spotting what he'd assumed was a pile of trash wedged in the entryway of an abandoned storefront. It's a man. An old, grizzled man wrapped in a pile of ratty blankets and surrounded by overflowing plastic shopping bags. He disentangles from the blankets and Bucky catches sight of an olive green coat, the name Hennessy stitched on the breast. Jesus. Is this guy a veteran?  
  
"Hey," Bucky rasps, digging in his pants. He thinks he has a few stray bills tucked away. He's feeling wretchedly guilty about his new $70 sweatshirt.  
  
The old man waves him off. "I don't want your money, son." His eyes are fixed on Bucky's hand. "That's a pretty fancy paw you've got there. Back in my day you were lucky to end up with a hook. You lose that hand in Iraq?"  
  
"Afghanistan," Bucky corrects. "The whole arm." He's surprised to find that it hurts less to say it, like every time it becomes a little easier to accept as real. "How did you know? Were you ... ?"  
  
"Vietnam," Old Guy responds. "I was about your age. Jack Hennessy."  
  
He holds out a hand, and Bucky shakes. "James, but people call me Bucky."  
  
"So, Bucky," Jack says. "You wanna tell me why you're walkin' around in the rain lookin' like a zombie?"  
  
"It's a long story." Not to mention that he feels like an ungrateful shit now, looking at this guy. This could've been him. If he'd kept on hiding in his apartment, afraid to go outside, never mind find work ... Instead he'd ended up with friends, an offer to join a group of freaking superheroes, and a date with the man of his dreams. He kind of wants to bang his head against the brick wall.

"Well lucky for you, my book club ain't till six," Jack drawls.  
  
Bucky barks out a laugh. _I was on a date with Captain America and got accosted by a reporter_ probably won't fly, but, "I was at the flea market with a friend. The crowd got to me, and I just ran away like a damn coward."  
  
"Nothing cowardly about protecting yourself," Jack says. "Believe me, I've seen worse reactions to a lot less. Buddy of mine used to yak every time he smelled diesel."  
  
Bucky winces. "Yeah, I'm not a big fan either." The few memories he has of the incident (the word his doctors had always used, because 'attack' and 'explosion' are apparently insensitive) are mostly sensory. The heat, the smell of the fuel, the grit of the sand in his eyes.  
  
"Problem is, you can't run forever." Jack smiles grimly. "Lord knows I tried."

Bucky wants desperately to ask how Jack ended up here, but the guy's got to be touchy about it. Bucky doesn't even like talking about his arm.

Jack seems to read it on his face. "It's all right. You can ask. I saw some shit over there, hit the bottle hard when I got back. Had no family to speak of, no one to keep me in line. I worked a few odd jobs here and there, couldn't hold anything down." He shrugs. "This isn't the best life, but it sure as hell beats war."

"But ... couldn't you get help somewhere? The VA?" Bucky remembers all the brochures and phone numbers he'd been given (and promptly trashed). He likes to think that if Clint hadn't happened along, he'd have managed eventually, but ... Christ, this all hits a little too close to home.

"Ah, back then there was no such thing as PTSD. People thought you were brain damaged or just weak." Jack shakes his head. "I was an engineer. Thought I'd be building roads in the countryside and never see battle. I didn't sign up for that shit."

"I did," Bucky says. "I mean, I thought it was what I wanted. Probably would've stayed in forever if not for this." He gestures with his artificial hand.

"And have you gotten help somewhere?" Jack asks shrewdly. "Or have you been tryin' to convince yourself you can deal on your own?"

Bucky frowns. "I don't ... "

"You don't need help? You're just fine? Sorry to say, kid, but the man I saw walking in the rain didn't look fine." Jack holds up a hand to cut off Bucky's protest. "Look, I know you have no reason to listen to an old drunk, but you don't have to end up like this. Things are different these days. There's a group I started going to a while back, led by a guy name of Wilson. Tripped over me just like you did, then bugged the shit out of me 'til I came to a meeting. He stops by sometimes, brings me food, keeps tryin' to talk me into finding a job. He's a good man. You want, I'll go there with ya."

"I don't know, I just ... " How the hell had Bucky ended up here? He was just trying to have a nice sulk in the rain, and now all this. He takes a step away. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"Mm." Jack looks disappointed, but not surprised. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Now maybe you should track down that friend of yours. He's probably worried about ya."

Shit. Steve. There's no way he just went back home and cut his losses (like a man with any common sense would do). He's probably out there right now, searching. "You're right." Bucky pulls out his phone. He's tempted to call Clint, who will yell at him and call him a dumbass but ultimately come get him. He doesn't know how to face Steve. But that's the coward's way out, and he's had enough of that for one day.

Bucky takes a deep breath and dials. "Steve? I think I need you to break out Google Maps for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally made another OC. *hides face* I know a lot of you thought Steve would catch up to Bucky and save the day, but I really don't think Bucky would've appreciated that at all. 
> 
> This ended up more serious than I intended (which just keeps happening!), but I found it both interesting and sad that PTSD wasn't officially a psychiatric diagnosis until a good five years after the Vietnam War ended.
> 
> And look, I found a way to use Sam, even if I am shamelessly turning him into a New Yorker. Bruce will be so pleased.


	30. Chapter 30

"Bucky?" Steve sounds frantic. "Where are you? Are you hurt? Talk to me!"

Bucky snorts. "Gotta let me get a word in first," he teases. "I'm okay. I'm sorry, Steve. There was this reporter, and I just got overwhelmed."

"A reporter?" Steve repeats. "What did they - no, never mind that right now; tell me where you are."

"Um," Bucky says. "I'm not sure. I think ... not Manhattan?"

Steve makes an exasperated noise, but Jack waves a hand to get Bucky's attention and rattles off an address. Bucky repeats it back to Steve.

"Who was that?" Steve demands. "Hang on, let me pull up ... okay, I'm coming, Bucky. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, Steve." Bucky wants to be annoyed at the mother-henning, but he mostly feels guilty. Like Steve doesn't have enough stress in his life without Bucky making him worry. He hears a steady pounding noise and Steve's huffing breath in his ear. "Are you running here?"

" ... Maybe?"

"Steve, I'm okay, really. I had a little anxiety attack, and I just needed to walk it off." Bucky catches sight of Jack glaring at him and adds, "And I met someone who made me see some sense."

"You met someone?" And oh, Steve sounds jealous.

"Not like that," Bucky says. "Trust me. You'll see." He glances at Jack, who's smirking at him like he knows exactly what Bucky's talking about.

There's a loud honk, and Steve swears.

"Steve? I swear, if you get your dumb ass run over - "

Steve laughs breathlessly. "You know, you call me a dumbass an awful lot."

"Well you _are_ a dumbass." Bucky's kind of horrified at how fond he sounds about that. "Maybe you should hang up until you get here."

"No!" Steve snaps, then immediately sounds contrite. "I'm sorry. I just need to keep talking to you. I was so worried when I couldn't find you. I thought, what if you'd been kidnapped or attacked, and it was my fault? Or at the least, I wasn't there to save you."

"First of all," Bucky says, "I think we've had this conversation about me needing to be rescued. If I'm going to be - " He stops himself from saying _an Avenger_ just in time. Jack might seem like a decent guy, but there's no need to tempt fate. "If we're going to be equals, you have to trust me to look out for myself. Which, okay, I kind of failed at today, but that was mostly my own brain and not, you know, anything actually life threatening."

Jack makes a grumpy noise. "If you call wandering in the rain like a lost kitten not life threatening."

"Quit eavesdropping," Bucky hisses.

"Well excuse me, but you're having your conversation on my front steps," Jack drawls.

"These are not your - " Bucky blows out a frustrated breath. "Fine, I'm a helpless kitten, whatever. It's still not your fault, Steve."

" _Who_ are you talking to?" Steve asks, bewildered.

Bucky sighs. "I'd really feel better if you'd hang up, so I don't have to worry about you getting hit by a bus."

"I'm pretty sure if Tony were here he'd say something about a pot and a kettle," Steve retorts. "But there's no need. I'm here."

Bucky whips around and spots Steve jogging down the street toward him. It's still raining steadily, but Steve's feet are fast and sure, and it's really kind of unfair how hot the man looks while running. Wet. With his T-shirt clinging distractingly.

Jack clears his throat, and Bucky jumps, jabbing the button to end the call. Jack grins knowingly. "That's the 'friend' you left behind? Boy, you are all kinds of stupid."

"Hey!" Bucky protests. "What happened to you being supportive?"

"Just tellin' it like it is," Jack says.

"Bucky!" Steve skids to a stop and throws his arms around Bucky's shoulders. He's squeezing a little too tight and the wet leather of his jacket sticks uncomfortably to Bucky's cheek. It's the best hug of his life. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"'m fine, Stevie," Bucky mumbles. "Sorry for worrying you. And ruining our date."

"Are you kidding?" Steve holds him at arm's length, forcing Bucky to meet his eyes. "This has been the best day I've had since ... " He peers around Bucky, frowning when he sees Jack listening shamelessly. "Since I was young. Really young. You didn't ruin anything."

Bucky sags against Steve's chest. The man's too good for him, no doubt about it, but he's done fighting this. If Steve wants him, he's not going to sabotage the best thing that ever happened to him. "Me too," he admits. "I mean, it's the best day I've had in as long as I can remember." Steve runs a comforting hand through his hair, and Bucky shivers.

"We should get you back to the tower," Steve says. "Bruce says your immune system might still be compromised."

"Does he?" Bucky says flatly. "And when were you discussing this?"

Steve winces. "Um. I don't ... a couple days ago? When we were talking about taking you on for the ... " He peeks at Jack again. "The project."

Bucky sighs. "I'm not actually going to die from standing in the rain," he says loudly, half directed at Jack.

Jack laughs a bit evilly, and it's oddly reminiscent of Clint. Bucky can't ever let the two of them meet. "Whatever you say, kid."

"You want to introduce me to your friend, there?" Steve asks.

Bucky takes Steve's hand and drags him over to Jack. "Steve, Jack. Jack, Steve."

Steve holds out a hand to shake, but Jack offers him a sloppy salute. "Pleasure, Cap."

Steve flounders. "How did ... I mean ... what?"

Jack laughs. "I might be homeless, but I can still read the headlines. Nothing for two weeks but pictures of America's greatest hero returned from the dead. Hafta say I feel a bit better now, knowing Bucky's in your hands." He mock-leers. "From the looks of it, in more ways than - "

"Okay!" Bucky interrupts. Jesus, _never_ letting him meet Clint. "Let's get out of here. I'm calling a taxi." He takes a few steps away before anyone can argue, pulling out his phone to search for a cab company. Behind him, he can make out the sounds of Steve interrogating Jack. Serves the nosy old man right. Still, knowing Steve, he'll end up buying the guy an apartment or something.

Sure enough, when Bucky ends the call, he hears Steve saying, " ... could come stay for a little while, anyway. It's the least we could do - "

"Nope," Jack interrupts cheerfully. "I'm good here. If you really want to do something for me, make sure he" - he points at Bucky - "is back here 7 p.m. Monday. There's someone he promised to meet."

"Yeah, pretty sure I didn't," Bucky says. "But ... " He glances at Steve, who looks confused but supportive. Everything's so much harder - and easier - now that he's actually got people to lose. "I'll be here."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy that you guys liked Jack. I'm generally pretty anti-OC, but it seemed like a necessary evil. Also, I totally didn't realize until after I posted the last chapter that I named my alcoholic character after a brand of cognac. Oops.
> 
> Think I might do a side story with Steve realizing he's lost Bucky, so keep an eye out if you're interested.


	31. Chapter 31

Bucky sneezes once while saying goodbye to Jack, and Steve spends the entire cab ride fussing. He's so earnest in his demands that Bucky needs to "get out of those wet clothes" that Bucky can't even bring himself to make a dirty joke. He just pulls off the Captain America hoodie and passes it to Steve, who grins shyly at the shield.

It's a little disconcerting, having someone act so concerned about his health. His doctors hadn't wanted him to die, obviously, but that was more out of professional consideration than any real regard for him as a person. His mother had never been the nurturing type, apart from working multiple jobs to keep their little family of two afloat. Probably the only person who'd ever approached this level of fretting was Dave, and even then the two of them had depended on each other for their lives. Steve just ... cares.

It doesn't occur to Bucky until they're crossing into Midtown that Steve had given the address to the tower instead of Bucky's home. "Steve?"

Steve, who's been gently rubbing warmth back into Bucky's flesh hand, looks up in concern. "Hm?"

"Why am I not going to my apartment?" If it doesn't come out as pointed as Bucky intended, he can hardly be blamed for the distraction of Captain America massaging his fingers.

Steve's expression is a cross between the lemon-face and a petulant five-year-old. It's pretty hilarious. "You should see Bruce. It sounds like you have a cold."

"I sneezed!" Bucky says, exasperated. "Once! And even if I do have a cold, it won't kill me. Also, Bruce is not actually a medical doctor."

"He's close enough," Steve says mulishly. "And colds can get worse. It could turn into bronchitis, or pneumonia." He grips Bucky's hand tightly. "My mother died from pneumonia."

Oh, that's just cheating. Coming from anyone else, Bucky would call it manipulation. He wants to point out how rare it is to die from pneumonia these days, and that while his medical insurance might suck, he can afford an actual doctor if it gets worse. But Steve, damn his puppy-dog eyes, is completely serious, and Bucky decides this is one fight he's not going to win.

"All right," Bucky concedes. "I'll let Bruce have a look at me."

Steve's answering smile is dazzling.

So, when they arrive at the tower a few minutes later (and send the cabbie away with a giant stack of cash that Steve won't let Bucky see), Steve drags him straight to Tony's workshop, which JARVIS informs him is Bruce's current location. Bucky's pulled to a halt just outside the doors, which look like glass but are probably bullet - and laser-proof, and he peers in. Tony's doing something that involves a welding mask and a lot of flames; Bruce is sprawled on the ratty couch with his nose in a book, seemingly unconcerned.  
  
"Do you think it's safe?" Bucky asks.  
  
Steve looks dubious. "Probably? I mean, Bruce wouldn't look so calm if Tony were about to blow up the tower.  I think."  
  
"Hmm. Do you think Bruce has a stash of tranquilizers that he breaks into when he has to deal with Tony?"  
  
Steve shakes his head sadly. "They don't work on either of us. I would use them _all the time_."  
  
"Are you two just going to stand out there all day like a couple of creepers?" Tony calls.  
  
Bucky jumps. There's no visible intercom, and Tony's back is still turned. Bucky looks at the ceiling suspiciously. "Did JARVIS tell on us?"  
  
"JARVIS sees all," Tony replies. The doors slide open. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get in here."  
  
Bruce peeks around his book. It's old and cracked and seems to have something to do with statistics, and Bucky really wants to get his hands on it. "Do you guys need something?"  
  
Steve pulls Bucky into the room. "Bucky is" - Bucky sneezes violently (damn it, now he'll never get out of this) - "getting sick."  
  
Bucky scoffs. "I'm fine! It's just a sneeze. And you know people don't actually catch colds from being out in the rain."  
  
Bruce frowns. "Your immune system - "  
  
"Oh, for - " Bucky growls. "Not you too. It's been two months."  
  
"Better safe than sorry," Tony says, tossing his helmet aside and moving to clap Bucky on the shoulder. He leaves a black smudge on Phil's sweater, and Bucky sighs.  
  
Bruce frowns. "You know I'm not - "  
  
"Actually a doctor; yes, we know." Tony snatches Bruce's book away. "Fix him." He points at Bucky, who throws up his hands in exasperation.  
  
"I. Am. Fine," he says through gritted teeth.  
  
"Have you been back to a doctor since your surgery?" Bruce asks. He stands and shoves a hand through his unruly hair.  
  
"Nooo ... " Bucky says. "I uh, maybe was supposed to have an appointment a couple weeks ago?" Three sets of disbelieving eyes turn on him, and he winces. "It was in Bethesda! I can't afford to just go to Maryland."  
  
Bruce sighs. "Let me look at the arm," he says, making a gesture that Bucky guesses is supposed to mean 'strip.'  
  
"I have officially either dressed or undressed in front of everyone in this tower," he complains. The sweater is wet and clinging, and he has to employ an undignified shimmy to pull it over his head. He hears a choked noise and Tony's cackling laugh, and when he emerges to toss the shirt aside, Steve's face is bright red.  
  
"Let's have a look," Bruce says. He prods at the arm, which detaches with a soft hiss, then passes it absently to Tony. Bucky misses it immediately. It hasn't even been a full day, but there had been a few hours earlier where he'd forgotten all about his missing arm.  
  
Tony notices his look. "Not bad, huh?"  
  
"It's amazing," Bucky says honestly. "I thought - they gave me these pamphlets in the hospital about artificial limbs, and it sounded kinda awful. People talked about getting blisters or places rubbed raw, and I just figured it wasn't worth it."

Tony snorts. "Obviously they didn't have prosthetics designed by me. Which is an oversight; I definitely need to add a medical division to the company." His eyes glaze over and he darts for a tablet.

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Well, it looks good. No signs of infection. I could do some blood work - " 

"I feel fine!" Bucky shouts. "It doesn't hurt, I don't have a fever, and my sneezing has nothing to do with my arm."

"I'm inclined to agree," Bruce says calmly. "Just let me - or an actual doctor - know if your symptoms get worse. In the meantime, maybe Steve will make you some tea and soup." He smirks a little, and Bucky decides that Bruce is secretly evil.

Steve nods enthusiastically. "I can do that." He picks up Bucky's sweater and snatches the arm out of Tony's hand. Tony is typing furiously with one finger and doesn't seem to notice. Steve has also produced the Cap hoodie from thin air. "Um. Do you want to put these back on?"

Bucky sighs. "The arm, yeah. I guess I'm going to have to borrow yet more clothes. I knew I should've gone to my place." 

"No!" Steve winces at the volume of his own voice. "I mean, no, you should stay here. It's warmer and safer, and Bruce is here, and I have plenty of extra clothes."

"I do have to go home eventually, you know," Bucky points out.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Bruce mumbles. "Even if Steve lets you out of his sight, you'll have to deal with Clint."

Steve pales. "Oh shit." He grabs Bucky's arm with one hand, the other clutching the artificial limb and the bundle of clothes, and starts herding Bucky toward the door. "I promised Clint I'd let him know when I found you."

"You called Clint?" Bucky does not whine, but seriously, he's an actual adult; this is uncalled for.

"Come on." Steve glances nervously at the ceiling, like he thinks Clint is going to drop down and attack him. "No time."

Bucky looks over his shoulder at Bruce, hoping for an explanation, but the bastard just winks at him. Tony never even glances up. 

"Steve," Bucky says as he's pulled into the elevator. "Can I at least get a shirt first? Steve? What did you say to Clint? Steve!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like nothing happened in this chapter, but I needed to get them back to the tower. And don't worry, I have no intentions of Bucky catching pneumonia, but I realized that he really should've had a follow-up appointment about his arm by now, and this was a good excuse to bring it up.
> 
> I hope I didn't miss any mistakes - I wrote this on my phone while waiting for my car to get serviced, and my fingers are not meant for those tiny letters.


	32. Chapter 32

Bucky finds himself shivering and shirtless on Phil's doorstep with no real recollection of how he'd gotten there. Steve looks like he's gearing up for battle when he knocks on the door, and Bucky wonders what the hell he'd missed.

The door flies open to reveal Clint, who looks worried and haggard. His eyes widen comically when he spots them, and he all but knocks Steve over in his hurry to embrace Bucky.

"You're okay!" he shouts in Bucky's ear. He squeezes so tightly that Bucky can only _urk_ in response. "What the hell! Where were you? Steve called and said he'd _lost_ you, and I thought - "

"Let them in the door, please," Phil says, dragging Clint away. They troop inside, and to Bucky's surprise, Phil turns to hug him too. "I'm glad you're okay. Do you need anything?"

"Um." Bucky looks down at his bare chest and dripping jeans. "I might need to borrow more of your clothes. Someone wouldn't let me go home."

"You need a shower." Steve frowns. "And that tea and soup Bruce mentioned."

"Soup?" Clint scrunches his face up in confusion. "I thought you guys ate on your date."

"Bucky's sick," Steve informs him.

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Bucky _sneezed_ , and Captain Overprotective and not-actually-a-medical-doctor Banner are convinced that the rest of my arm is going to fall off right before I die of pneumonia."

"Well," Phil says seriously, "your immune system - "

"Nope," Bucky says. "Not another word. I am going to go shower now. If someone would like to bring me dry clothes, that would be awesome."

He stalks out of the room, heading for what he's starting to think of as _his_ guest room. The water pressure is as fantastic as he remembers, but the experience is soured by irritation. His own mother had never nagged him as much as these people! He hasn't been to his own apartment in days, and as nice as Phil's clothes are, he'd kind of like his own stuff. "Ridiculous," he says aloud.

"Yes, you are," Clint says from right outside the shower. 

It says something about Bucky's life that he's not even surprised. 

"Sooo ... " Clint drawls, faux-casual, "do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Not really," Bucky says. "Definitely not while I'm trying to enjoy my shower."

"Okay," Clint agrees. "But that doesn't mean you're getting out of it later. You nearly gave us all a heart attack." There's a long pause, which Bucky figures is meant to make him feel guilty. It sort of works. "Anyway, I brought you some clothes. Or I should say, Cap went and got you some clothes, and I volunteered to deliver them. I didn't think you were at that point in your relationship yet."

Bucky scrubs at his hair a little more vigorously than necessary. "If I'd been allowed to go home, this wouldn't be necessary. I can't decide if this is the longest sleepover in history or I've been kidnapped."

"Well," Clint says, "about that. We decided, back after the whole Loki thing, that it'd be better to have all the Avengers in one place. More convenient. And this is like, the safest building in the world."

"Uh huh," Bucky says. "So you thought, what, if you kept me here long enough I'd move in without noticing?"

"Nooo ... "

Bucky can only see a Clint-shaped blob through the frosted glass, but he'd bet his meager savings that Clint's hunching guiltily. 

"I just thought you'll see how great it is here and want to stay," Clint says. "Also, Steve's here."

"Yeah, that's not actually a point in favor." Bucky shuts off the water and sticks a hand out for his towel. "We just went on our first date; it's a little soon to be living together."

Clint scoffs. "It's not like you have to share a bed. It'd be like you lived in the same apartment building. And no offense, but I've seen your place. This is a step up. A whole flight of stairs up. Climbing to the top row of Yankee Stadium up."

"Oh my God," Bucky says. "Enough with the terrible metaphors. I'll think about it, okay? We need to at least see if I can handle being an Avenger before I move into HQ."

"Hey," Clint says, sounding uncharacteristically serious. "Even if you never join up, you're family now. You're not getting rid of us."

Bucky wraps the towel around his waist and climbs out of the shower. There's a pile of clothes on the sink, but Steve still has his arm and there's no way he can manage under-the-towel dressing with one hand. "I don't suppose you'll wait outside the door? Also, you've known me for like a week, and the others even less."

Clint looks amused. "You don't have anything I haven't seen," he points out. He does turn his back, so Bucky counts it as a win. "And you might not have noticed, but none of us exactly have tons of friends. It's hard when you never know who might be an enemy or who's just after your money or fame. You treat us like we're just regular people, and we know we can trust you." 

Bucky pulls on a pair of boxer-briefs (Steve's! Although ... surely they'd bunch up under his uniform pants. Oh man, does he go commando under the Cap costume? Clint might know, but then Bucky might have to kill him) and wipes halfheartedly at his hair. "I've got to go home and get clothes," he says, pulling on an oversized T-shirt and something he thinks might be yoga pants. "But I don't really own much else besides a shitty television."

"And you rent by the month," Clint says. Because of course Clint knows this. "So it's not like you're losing much money. We could get you moved in this evening."

"Is this real life?" Bucky asks. "Because I feel like I'm having a very strange dream. I think I actually _had_ this dream a few weeks ago, where I was living in Stark Tower and dating Captain America. Also, you can turn around now."

"What can I say, I make dreams come true," Clint snarks. "So what do you say? You can let Steve feed you soup and mother you to death, or we can go pack up your things."

Bucky sighs and looks down at the pants pooling around his feet. It's not like he doesn't want to live in the world's coolest building, but it all seems a little too good to be true. In his experience, that's when things tend to go to shit. Still, he doesn't have to stay forever if things don't work out. And it would be a lot more convenient, both for training and seeing his friends. "Fine," he concedes. "But we're all going to have a long talk about personal boundaries."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care what happens in the stupid movies. No one is going to ruin my domestic Avengers fantasies.
> 
> This chapter was going to be longer, but a couple days ago the house next door burned down in the middle of the night. It did a fair bit of damage to mine, so I've been dealing with insurance people and fire investigators, and the power was off for a while, and then I had to get the cable/internet company to come run all new lines. So basically I just decided to post what I had.
> 
> Coming up, we'll meet Sam, and Bucky will finally start training.


	33. Chapter 33

"I'm thinking I'll leave the TV for the next poor bastard who lives in my apartment," Bucky says, peering at the flat-screen mounted on the living room wall. "I just want my clothes and a few pictures and things." He frowns. "I never realized how little stuff I own. It's kind of depressing, really."

Clint, who had ducked next door to tell Phil and Steve they were leaving, tosses him a pair of shoes. Bucky's own are waterlogged, and at this point it hardly matters who his footwear belongs to, considering he's wearing Steve's underwear. "Crap, I should've grabbed your arm," Clint says, hovering anxiously while Bucky tugs the sneakers on with one hand. "Or found some of those shoes with Velcro."

"Over my dead body," Bucky says. "And the arm can wait. Not like there'll be any heavy lifting." 

"Can I ask ... " Clint begins uncertainly. "You didn't inherit your parents' house?"

"Ah." The shoes are loose, and Bucky yanks on the laces a bit too viciously. "I never knew my father. My mom and I lived in a two-bedroom  apartment over a flower shop." He smiles a little, despite himself. "Had to be quiet and not move around too much during business hours, so I spent a lot of time outside. I was never any good at sitting still." He manages two sloppy knots and decides the sneakers probably won't fall off his feet. He's lost a lot of his dignity lately, but he'll be damned if he has to ask someone else to tie his shoes.

Clint takes the subject change in stride. "Yeah? I guess the Army trained that out of you."

"I dunno," Bucky says. "It's different if I'm waiting around for a good reason. I can sit for hours waiting for a target, but if someone tells me to be quiet just for the sake of being quiet ... " He shrugs.

"Ha!" Clint exclaims. "I can't wait to tell Phil. He's all, 'You're a sniper, Barton; don't tell me you can't sit through one movie.' I tried to explain that if someone's life depended on me making it through The Grapes of Wrath, I'd be a fucking statue, but I don't think he bought it."

Bucky laughs. "I'm not sure I buy it, either." He trails Clint out of the apartment, tapping his foot nervously while they wait for the elevator. "I don't actually know what happened to any of the stuff in my mom's apartment. I only took a couple days of leave, just long enough to travel here and back and sit through the funeral. There was no money, just furniture and stuff, and I didn't have any use for it. I told the apartment manager to keep it, sell it, whatever. I was still pretty pissed at my mother at the time, and plus I thought I'd spend my life alone and living on military bases, so why was I gonna need her goddamn china cabinet?"

Clint drapes an arm around his shoulders and knocks their heads together gently. "I get it, man. Not to play 'who had the shittier childhood,' but I was outta there as fast as my feet could carry me, nothing but the clothes on my back." The elevator doors open, and he herds Bucky inside. "Garage, JARVIS. Phil, though, he's got this box full of stuff ... old photos, his dad's cufflinks, his grandfather's wedding ring. Sometimes I wish I had shit like that." 

The elevator deposits them in the garage, and Clint drags Bucky over to a row of sports cars. "What do you think? If we don't have to worry about hauling a bunch of shit, I say we borrow the McLaren."

Bucky blinks at the car in disbelief. It's an eye-watering orange. "Is this thing even street legal?"

"Of course it is," Tony's affronted voice says from ... nowhere. Bucky hunkers down and peers under the car, finally spotting a pair of legs sticking out from under an SUV a few rows over. Tony slides out and climbs to his feet, rubbing grease-stained fingers on his jeans. "Were you going to ask before you borrowed my million dollar car, Barton?"

Clint shrugs unrepentantly.

"Hmph. Well, where are you going? And can I come? Wait a minute; these are all my cars." Tony points at them triumphantly. "I'm driving! Where to? Have to pick another car, though. You think these two-seaters are a good idea ... " He wanders off talking to himself, and Clint and Bucky exchange resigned looks. "Come on," Tony shouts from across the room. "We're taking the Jag!"

Five of the most surreal minutes of his life later, Bucky - having lost the scuffle to ride shotgun - is sprawled in the backseat of Tony Stark's Jaguar, cruising toward Brooklyn.

"So," Tony says brightly. "Road trip. To Brooklyn. Not that I don't applaud you getting out of the house, but I can think of better destination spots. Greece, for example, is ... well, pretty fucking hot this time of year, actually, but you get the point."

"Oh, did you _have_ a point?" Bucky retorts. "Cause I thought maybe you were just insulting my hometown. During a ride that no one invited you on."

Clint snickers, and Tony shoots him a wounded look in the rearview. "Please, we all know I'm the life of this little party. But seriously, what's up? I thought I heard something about you going missing earlier, and the next thing I know you and birdbrain here are stealing my car."

"I wasn't missing," Bucky says tiredly. He's really not in the mood, but he still owes Clint an explanation, and it's not like Tony won't find out eventually. "I got cornered by this reporter. It wasn't even her, really, just the crowd and letting her get the drop on me, and then she's all 'Are you secretly fucking Captain America?' with her phone in my face, and I just ran like a - Jesus, what if that video is out there already?"

Tony shakes his head. "I have JARVIS set to alert me when anything regarding the Avengers hits the news. What reporter? Was she following you?"

"I don't know," Bucky says. "It could've been a coincidence that she recognized me. I didn't notice anyone following us."

"Still," Clint growls. "She shouldn't have bothered you. You want me to send Natasha after her? I'd offer to do it myself, but let's be real, Nat's more scary."

Bucky laughs. "I don't think you're allowed to kill a reporter for questioning me."

"True," Tony says. "But we don't have to kill her. We could just ruin her life. I could fuck up her credit score. Give her a criminal record. Make her owe millions in back taxes."

"Uh, as touched as I am by this little bout of homicidal rage, she was just doing her job. I'm gonna have to get used to it." Bucky leans over Tony's shoulder and points. "Turn here. Third building down."

Tony pulls to a stop in front of Bucky's building and eyes it disdainfully. A teenager jogs down the front steps, spots the Jag, and trips over his own feet. Clint smothers a giggle.

"I can go up on my own," Bucky says hopefully. "No need to subject the neighbors to ... all this." And he really, really doesn't need one of the world's richest men in his shithole apartment, thanks.

"If by 'all this' you mean my sheer awesome," Tony says, already climbing out of the car, "I think they can handle it. Lead the way."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said stuff was gonna happen this chapter, I guess I lied. It was just gonna be like, "Bucky picked up his crap and moved in," but then all this talking happened. 
> 
> It's sort of my headcanon that Tony buys the most expensive cars in the world and then tinkers with them because he's convinced he can make them better. This is the McLaren they were talking about, if anyone cares: http://cars.mclaren.com/P1/Inspiration  
> I was actually pretty disappointed that this story is set in 2012, because now there's a version of this car that's meant for driving on a circuit, and included in the three million dollar price is access to tracks and your own pit crew. Tell me Tony wouldn't be all over that.
> 
> I didn't get around to responding to every comment on the last chapter, but to those of you who were concerned about the house, thank you! No one was living next door at the time, and while there was quite a bit of damage to my place, it was all exterior and the insurance people are so far surprisingly not being dicks. :)


	34. Chapter 34

All of Bucky's belongings - mostly clothes and toiletries - fit into his Army-issue duffle, which Clint slings over one shoulder. Tony shakes his head sadly at the television before snatching it up and muttering something about upgrades and cathode rays. Bucky is left empty-handed, holding open doors while they clatter down the stairs. He wonders if normal people collect more stuff than this after two months of living somewhere, though he has to admit he hasn't been living so much as existing rather pitifully, at least before Clint came along.

They climb back into the Jag (which Bucky is mildly surprised to see still sitting at the curb and not halfway to Jersey in a dozen pieces) and Tony points them toward Manhattan. He looks ready to burst, hands twitching on the wheel while he darts glances at Bucky in the rearview. It takes him three minutes to crack. "Why in God's name were you living there?" 

"Believe it or not," Bucky says through clinched teeth, "we can't all be billionaires."

Ignoring Clint's glare, Tony barrels on. "But doesn't the Army - " 

"Look," Bucky interrupts, "as soon as I stopped being useful, I just became a bunch of numbers to them. They have these charts - what percentage disabled you are versus how many dependents you have - " 

"Percentage?!" Tony says, outraged.

"Yeah," Bucky agrees bitterly. "Bonus points for losing a limb, but I drop a level for not having a spouse or kids. Basically they did their math and decided my life was worth the monthly rent in this shithole, plus the occasional pizza delivery if I'm really thrifty."

Tony Stark is speechless. It's almost worth the discomfort and embarrassment of having this conversation. 

"Well," Clint says a little too cheerfully. "It's a good thing you met us, then."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I'm sure no one's ever been so grateful to be kidnapped." 

"Kidnapping sounds so tawdry," Tony complains. "I prefer to think of it as liberating you from a life of idleness and boredom." He flashes Bucky a grin. "Plus, letting someone with your skills go to waste would just be ... "

"Wasteful?" Clint suggests.

"Exactly!" Tony jabs a finger at him. "And as someone smart - though not as smart as me, obviously - once said, you don't waste good."

Bucky's trying to decide how to respond to that when he's nearly deafened by the sound of wailing guitars. They all jump, and Clint digs his phone out of his pocket, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry! I turn it up all the way when I'm out in public, cause I can't always hear - oh hey, it's Phil." He pokes a couple buttons. "Phil! You're on speaker. Say hi."

"Hi," Phil says dryly. "I need an ETA."

"Uh, like 10 more minutes," Clint answers. "Why?"

Phil sighs. "Steve is in our kitchen - though why he couldn't use his own, I don't know - massacring a chicken for the soup that Bucky apparently requires if he's to survive."

"What?" Bucky squeaks.

"We spent quite some time comparing recipes on the Food Network website," Phil says, "debating the merits of parsley versus thyme. Then he called me in a panic from the grocery store because egg noodles come in four different sizes, in addition to offering a yolk-free version."

Clint and Tony start snickering, and Bucky scoots down in his seat, trying to disappear.

"You know, I idolized this man growing up," Phil continues. "I joined the Army because of him. And right now he's in my kitchen, wearing an apron that I didn't even know I owned, on the verge of hysterics because 'This has to simmer for an hour, Phil, and what if Bucky comes back too soon?'"

Clint's in tears, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. Tony is hunched over the steering wheel, holding his stomach with one hand and making little snorting noises. Bucky hates them both.

"Just ... find somewhere else to go for a while." There's shouting in the background, and Phil makes an exasperated noise. "I have to get back in there, because Captain America has a pile of basil for me to chiffonade. Sometimes I wonder if I'm still in a coma and this is all a very bizarre dream. At least it's nice to know my knife skills aren't going to waste."

He hangs up, and Clint explodes into giggles. "Oh man, Steve's got it bad," he says gleefully.

Tony nods. "I don't know whether to be impressed or nauseated."

"I don't need soup! I'm not even sick!" Bucky shouts over their laughter. "And how did he talk Phil into helping him?"

"I dunno." Clint looks a little glassy-eyed. "It's kinda hot, though. I do like watching him with a knife."

"Oookay," Tony says. "TMI. I don't need to know what you and Agent get up to behind closed doors. Please tell me it's behind closed doors, because if you're doing it in public areas of my tower - "

"Psh, like you haven't," Clint interrupts.

"Well, of course. It's my tower." Tony grins smugly. "You know that conference room with all the mirrors?"

"No!" Clint looks equal parts intrigued and horrified. "We planned a battle on that table. I ate a doughnut off that table!"

"Guys," Bucky says loudly. "Can we go back to the part where Steve is making me soup?"

"Right," Clint agrees. "We need to figure out how we're going to kill an hour."

"What? No!" Bucky scowls. "I'm not sick. He's being ridiculous."

"He's being sweet," Clint counters, "and we're not going to ruin it for him. Are we, Tony?"

"Are you kidding?" Tony scoffs. "Romance gives me hives. I'm not - ouch!" He rubs his leg, glaring at Clint. "You pinched me!"

"This is the first relationship Steve has had. Ever." Clint pins Tony with an angry stare. "You're not going to ruin it just because you're a sadistic little - "

"Hey, now," Tony protests. "I really think schadenfreude is a more accurate - "

"And you!" Clint shifts his glare to Bucky. "I know you don't like feeling weak or whatever, but it's okay to let someone take care of you every now and then."

Bucky pretends to be fascinated with his seatbelt. He doesn't know how to tell Clint that it seems like all he's done lately is have other people take care of his problems for him. 

"Look." Clint twists around to face him, propping his chin on the seat. "Phil spent the better part of a month in bed after he got stabbed. For a while there, he couldn't go to the bathroom by himself or even hold up a spoon. Do I think less of him because I had to help him out for a while? No. He's still the most badass person I know. That's just what you do when you care about someone, and I can't believe that I of all people have to explain this to you."

Bucky sighs. "But I'm not even sick."

"So what?" Clint throws his arms up in exasperation. "Let him feed you the damn soup. It'll make him feel better, and then if you don't get sick he can think he and the Food Network cured you. It's win-win."

"Fine," Bucky grumbles.

"Great!" Clint says brightly. "Now we just need to decide where to - "

"I've got this." Tony cuts across a lane of traffic, ignoring the angry honks. "If I have to be a party to this romantic comedy bullshit, we're at least going to do something fun."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait. I've been so stressed out about RL crap lately that I haven't had the extra brainpower to write. The insurance company sent a check for roughly $8,000 less than what it will actually cost to fix the house, and I hate confrontation so much that the process of trying to sort it out is nearly as bad as the thought of what will happen if I can't. Anyway, I'll try not to disappear again.
> 
> Re: Bucky's military benefits. This assumes he was lucky enough to get through the process quickly, which isn't all that realistic, as it sometimes takes years. Based on average benefits and rent, though, a person in his circumstances would just get enough money a month to afford a one-bedroom in a shittier part of Brooklyn. I'm not trying to badmouth the military, but I don't think we can blame Bucky for feeling a little bitter.
> 
> "You don't waste good" is actually from the show NCIS. It's Gibbs' rule #5.


	35. Chapter 35

"Steeeeve." Bucky sprawls across the backseat of the Jag, rubbing his cheek against the leather. It's very soft. He wants to wallow in it, maybe make snow angels. Leather angels? No, that sounds like a biker gang. He laughs, the sound muffled by the seat. "I like Steve." 

"Uh huh," Clint says patiently. "We know."

Clint sounds really far away. "You sound really far away," Bucky announces. He flaps a hand in the air, frowning when he doesn't reach Clint. Maybe he's on the phone?

"I'm right here," Clint's voice says.

A calloused hand catches Bucky's wrist, holding it loosely. It's nice. It'd been so long since anyone touched him, but now he has Clint, who likes to nap on him, and Steve, who holds his hand. Phil gave him a hug that one time. Tony and Bruce had been so careful fixing his arm. He thinks he can trust these people. Except maybe Natasha; she's tricky.

Clint laughs. "That she is. But she's decided she likes you, so you're safe."

Oh. Maybe he'd said that out loud.

"Jesus, I thought soldiers were supposed to be able to hold their booze." That's Tony's voice. Tony's here, too! "Yeah, Bucky. I'm the one driving, remember?"

Right. Tony's car. "Weren't we at my apartment?" Bucky asks.

"We were," Tony says. "A couple hours ago. Then I took you to the best sushi restaurant in the city, where you decided that raw fish was gross and you were going to drink your lunch instead. Philistine."

"Ohh yeah." Bucky wrinkles his nose. "It _was_ gross. And I couldn't eat, 'cause Steve made soup!"

"Should we be worried about alcohol poisoning?" Clint asks. "He sounds really out of it."

"Trust me, he'd be too busy puking to talk this much," Tony says dismissively. "He's just a lightweight. He only had two drinks." 

"Steve's going to kill us," Clint says. "Like, really. He already thought Bucky was on his deathbed, and now we're bringing him back like this?"

"How were we supposed to know that he has the tolerance of a 12-year-old?" Tony retorts. "This is not my fault. I didn't even drink. This might be the most responsible I've been, ever. You're the one who's gotten drunk with him before. Did this happen then?"

Clint shrugs, jostling Bucky's hand. Bucky makes an unhappy noise, and warm fingers squeeze his wrist reassuringly. "I don't know, man. He was coming down off a panic attack at the time, so he was already pretty messed up. I'm more worried about how we fix this before Steve sees him."

"Please, do you think I'm an amateur?" Tony asks. "I've got coffee and banana bags in the lab - "

"Of course you do," Clint mutters.

" - and he didn't actually drink that much, so hopefully we can get him sobered up before we deliver him to Steve."

"Steeeve," Bucky says happily.

"Seems like a shame, though," Tony muses. "I like drunk Bucky." 

"Yeah, and I like my spine where it is and not ripped out by an angry supersoldier," Clint says. 

"Steve _is_ super," Bucky agrees.

Tony cackles. "I can't believe you wouldn't let me record this." 

"Don't like people recording," Bucky mumbles into the leather. "'s mean." He yawns. "Ima sleep now ... " 

*****

"Bucky? Wake up, buddy."

Bucky swats at the hand shaking him. "Nuh uh."

"Come on, time to get up and go see Steve. He made you soup, remember?"

Bucky cracks an eye open. "Clint?"

"The one and only," Clint agrees. "You with me now?" 

Bucky struggles upright and takes in his surroundings. He's in Tony's workshop, sprawled on a shabby couch. "Why ... ?"

"You slept through us dragging you out of the car." Clint plops down on the armrest and shoves a battered mug at him. "Coffee. Drink. You also slept through Tony shooting you up with a bunch of vitamins or something, which I say can't be legal."

"Huh." Bucky takes a careful sip of coffee. It's black and strong, and he thinks he can feel his stomach lining dissolving. 

"Do you always get drunk so quickly?" Clint asks. "Two shots of sake and you were out like a light." 

"Haven't done it in years." Bucky shrugs. "Since college. Guess I lost my tolerance. Also, I weigh less now." He wiggles his stump.

Clint's eyebrows shoot up. "Are we joking about the arm now? That's progress."

"Speaking of your arm," Tony calls. Bucky peers over the back of the couch to see him tinkering with the Iron Man helmet. "Why are you back down to one?"

"It's at Clint's," Bucky says. "I took it off, and then ... "

"Then you had a tantrum and stormed off and forgot it," Clint supplies helpfully. Bucky glares at him. "Well, it's true. But you're finished being a dumbass now, right?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm going to suck it up and let Steve take care of me."

Tony snickers. "So many innuendos, so little time." 

"Speaking of time." Clint jumps to his feet. "Steve's going to be wondering where you are. I'll go let them know we're back and bring you your arm."

Bucky must doze again, because it seems like he blinks and Clint reappears with the arm. He staggers to his feet, rolling up his sleeve to attach the prosthetic and ignoring Clint's worried gaze. He's a little drowsy but mostly sober, and he feels like the world's biggest idiot. He's pretty sure he recalls a lot of babbling.

"So ... " Clint drawls. "Do we need to have a talk about getting drunk in the middle of the day?"

"Uh, no?" Bucky runs his fingers through his hair and winces when they hit a snag. "Do you remember seeing a comb?" 

"You wanna try that again with some eye contact?" Clint asks. 

Bucky lifts his head and stares at Clint pointedly. "I'm not drowning my sorrows, okay?" He spots his duffle near the door and drags it to the couch. He's almost positive he owns a comb. "I hadn't eaten and I'm not used to drinking."

Clint raises his hands in surrender. "Just making sure. The last time I saw you drink ... "

"I was having a mental breakdown; yes, I know." Bucky makes a triumphant noise when his fingers close around a hairbrush. "I promise this was not like that, and I'm not in any hurry to do it again. Once was embarrassing enough." 

Tony scoffs loudly. "Please, you haven't seen embarrassing 'til you're naked on YouTube."

"I'll pass, thanks." Clint snatches the brush from Bucky and starts dragging it through his hair. "Jesus, Barnes, have you ever heard of conditioner?"

Bucky snorts. "Are we going to paint each other's nails next? We've already talked about boys and now you're fixing my hair."

"I draw the line at naked pillow fights," Tony chimes in. "Unless you can convince Natasha to join in."

"I'm telling her you said that," Clint warns. "You'd better sleep with one eye open."

"I take it back. One terrifying redhead in my life is enough." Tony's abandoned the Iron Man helmet in favor of staring intently at a tablet. "You'd better head out, mystery man. Cap's about to wear a hole in the kitchen floor with his pacing." 

"Are you spying on - no, I don't even want to know." Clint tosses the brush aside. "Go on, get out of here. And if Steve asks what you did this afternoon, tell him we took you to a museum."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what happened with this chapter, except I felt the need for some bonding a bit of touch-starved Bucky. I swear there will be actual plot soon.


	36. Chapter 36

Clint trails Bucky back upstairs, ostensibly to talk to Phil, but Bucky suspects he's just being nosy. Bucky can't even blame him. If this shit was a movie, they'd make a fortune.  _The Adventures of Captain America and the One-Armed Man._ He's pretty sure there were Cap comics with worse plots.

Phil throws the door open before they can knock. (Do people even knock in this place? Or does JARVIS just announce everyone, like they're at some fancy-ass ball? Maybe there are sensors built into the door. Bucky should probably ask about these things.)

"Steve's gone back to his own apartment," Phil says tiredly. He's got a smudge of something white on his nose, and Clint leans in and wipes at it with his thumb.

"Flour?" Clint asks, grinning.

"Cornstarch." Phil swats his hand away. "I've never done this much work for one of my own dates."

Clint clutches his chest dramatically. "The romance is dead."

Phil rolls his eyes. "Yes, because I'm the one who wanted to eat pizza in his underwear the last time we both had a night off."

"Sounds good to me," Bucky says, shrugging.

Clint reaches out for a fist bump, and Phil sighs.

"I'm surrounded by children," Phil mutters. He snags Clint's arm and drags him through the doorway. "Come on then, Mr. Romance. Steve's waited long enough, and I need to nap for a couple days."

"Bye, Bucky!" Clint waves through the closing door. "Have fun. And remember, museum!"

Bucky shakes his head and trudges down the hallway to Steve's. He stares at the closed door. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Sgt. Barnes?" The AI sounds amused. Bucky wouldn't put it past Stark to create a computer that can read minds, just so he could mock people.

"Just call me Bucky. And ... can you tell Steve I'm here?"

There's a long pause, then the door flies open, making Bucky jump.

"Sorry!" Steve says, smiling sheepishly. "Come on in. Sorry for the mess. And the ... " He waves a hand, indicating the bare walls. "It's kind of depressing in here."

Bucky trails him to the kitchen, trying not to look too obviously like he's snooping. The place looks like a high-end hotel room, sleek and modern and very un-Steve-like. The only indication someone actually lives here is the piles of books on every flat surface. There's a dog-eared Tom Clancy novel on the coffee table, right next to  _A People's History of the United States_ and what looks like an encyclopedia on popular culture. A biography of Roy Lichtenstein is perched on the arm of a (blindingly white, and Bucky's afraid to so much as breathe near it) sofa. 

"Are you reading all these at once?" Bucky asks, fascinated.

Steve peers over his shoulder and shrugs. "I have a lot of free time in between missions. There's a whole box full in the bedroom. I was going to get a bookshelf, but then Tony made me learn to use an e-reader." He starts pulling bowls and silverware out of the cabinets and stacking them on the marble counter. "I have so much to catch up on; it's hard to focus on one thing."

"Understandable." Bucky taps one of the bowls with a fingernail. "Are you sure it's safe to eat out of these? They look like they belong in a museum."

Steve laughs. "Nah. Believe it or not, Stark doesn't just buy stuff because it's expensive. He likes things that are well-made. And ... " He ducks his head a little. "I can be kinda clumsy. It's like, sometimes I still forget I have this body, and I can't get out of my own way. I've already knocked this stuff over once. See, watch." He picks up a bowl and reaches above his head, and Bucky can only make an alarmed noise before Steve lets go and the bowl clatters harmlessly on the floor. Steve glances up at him and chuckles. "You should see your face."

"Hey, I could probably sell your dinnerware and buy a car, okay? I'm not used to this kind of stuff." Bucky shakes his head. "It's not that long ago I was eating off dented metal trays in the mess." 

"Beats field rations around a campfire." Steve scoops up the bowl and ducks back into the cabinet for another. "That was just a few months ago, to me. But I'm trying to get used to it. I keep telling myself it's just part of the future, like cell phones and the Internet."

"Yeah, I think your view of the future is a little skewed," Bucky says. "You live with one of the richest men in the world." 

"So do you, now." Steve grins. "I'm glad you decided to stay. How'd the move go?" 

Steve turns to the stove and starts ladling soup, missing Bucky's moment of frozen panic. Should he actually say they went to a museum? What if Steve asks questions about it? He hasn't been to a museum since high school, and he's pretty sure all the exhibits will be different. Plus, lying ... not a great start to a relationship. On the other hand, what if Steve is disappointed? Or worse, decides that Bucky is a complete mess and he should cut his losses. 

"Bucky?" Steve glances over his shoulder, eyes filled with concern.

"Um." Bucky drums his fingers on the counter. "Tony took us for sushi."

Steve pauses, a full bowl of soup in each hand. He looks so crestfallen that Bucky blurts, "I didn't eat, though! I mean, I knew you were cooking, and I'm more of a meat and potatoes guy anyway, so ... " 

Bucky kind of wants the floor to open up and swallow him, but Steve smiles shyly. "Thanks for eating with me. I know you probably think I'm being ridiculous. I was just so worried when I thought you were sick. And then, well ... I just wanted to do something for you." He sets down the bowls and gestures Bucky into a chair. "Drink? Although now that I think about it, I only have water. And some kind of whiskey that Tony gave me as a housewarming present."

Bucky winces at the thought of alcohol. "Water's fine. And I don't think you're ridiculous. This is really nice. No one's ever cared enough to take care of me before."

"Really?" Steve grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and sits next to him, close enough that their knees are brushing. It's a lot more exciting than it should be. "I guess I figured ... I mean, you're gorgeous." 

Steve is blushing, and Bucky blinks at him stupidly. Captain America just called him gorgeous? He's tempted to pinch himself. "Thanks," he manages. "But no, I haven't dated much. I like women okay, sometimes, but I prefer men, and in the Army it just wasn't worth the risk, so ..." He's pretty sure that's only the third time in his life he's admitted that out loud, and it's kind of terrifying. He shoves a spoonful of soup in his mouth so he'll stop talking, and he nearly moans at the flavor. "Holy shit, this is good."

Steve looks relieved. "I'm glad. You'll have to tell Phil; he did a lot of the work." His smile turns self-deprecating. "I was pretty overwhelmed. I used to cook with my ma, but we sure didn't have all these ingredients."

"I don't think I've ever had soup that didn't come out of a can," Bucky admits. He can't believe that someone went to this much trouble for him, especially someone as amazing as Steve. He feels like such an asshole for all his complaining. "But that kind of applies to most of what I eat these days." 

"Well," Steve says, peeking up at Bucky through his (long, unfair) lashes. "Maybe we'll have to learn together."

"Yeah?" Bucky grins, nudging Steve's foot with his own. He feels giddy, like being drunk again only so, so much better. "Maybe we will." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have like 40 comments that I intended to reply to, but I figured you'd rather I got another chapter out instead. My internet has been pretty spotty the last few days. But thank all of you who have been leaving feedback; I can't even tell you how much it helps keep me motivated. 
> 
> Anyway, as much as I've been enjoying all this domestic fluff, the upcoming chapters are going to be Bucky finally starting training, and we'll meet Sam and see the return of Jack. Bucky and Steve might have started dating, but this thing is nowhere near over.


	37. Chapter 37

There's an awkward moment when they finish their food, where Bucky and Steve are fidgeting and trying not to stare at each other. What do people do in this situation, anyway? They're definitely not at a "let's go make out" point in their relationship. Should Bucky leave? Try to think of some activity?  
  
"So," Steve says. "What the heck do people do in this situation?"  
  
Bucky bursts out laughing, and a bit of the tension dissipates. "I have no idea. I can leave if you want, or .. "  
  
"No!" Steve says, a little too loudly. He blushes. "I mean, I'd like you to stay. Unless you want to go?"  
  
"Nope." Bucky grins. Blushing Steve is the best thing ever. "We could watch a movie? I don't actually own any, but I'm guessing this place has cable."  
  
"JARVIS can pull up anything you want to watch," Steve tells him. "It's great. We've had a few movie nights since everyone moved in. I think they're all making me watch their favorites. Oh hey, what's your favorite movie?"  
  
"I have no idea," Bucky says. "You might as well ask someone to pick their favorite kid. JARVIS, do you have a suggestion? Just, maybe no war movies. Or anything with plane crashes. Or car crashes. Or fire." He laughs. "Man, we are so messed up."  
  
"Perhaps a video game?" JARVIS asks. "I can recommend several that Agent Barton is quite fond of."

Bucky turns to Steve, who shrugs. "I've never played, but I guess we could give it a shot," Steve says.

"You've seen Clint's taste in movies," Bucky reminds him. "I don't know if we really want his recommendations. But whatever, pick one for us, J."

"If you'll step into the living room," JARVIS says, "you'll find controllers in the cabinet to the left of the television."  
  
They stack their dishes in the sink and head into the adjoining room, where JARVIS already has the lights dimmed and something pulled up on the massive flatscreen.  
  
"Now that's service," Bucky says, digging out the controllers.  
  
Steve grins and flops onto the white couch, patting the seat beside him. "I love the future." He glances up at Bucky, then ducks his head shyly. "More all the time."  
  
Bucky has a moment of indecision - _oh god he's right in the middle how close do I sit_ \- before easing down a few inches from Steve.  
  
Steve's poking curiously at the joystick and tapping at each of the buttons, a little furrow between his brows like he's planning a mission. Bucky has to admit he's no better. He's pretty sure the last console game he played could only scroll side-to-side.

"Well." Steve peers at the screen dubiously. "I guess we'll figure it out as we go."

Twenty minutes later, Bucky is seriously regretting his decision to listen to JARVIS. It's the middle of the day, but the AI had darkened the windows and the room is nothing but indistinct shadows. At some point, he and Steve had inched closer, until their shoulders are pressed together and he can feel every one of Steve's quickened breaths. On screen, Bucky's player is limping down a darkened corridor, a bare light bulb flickering feebly overhead as he reloads his pistols. Steve's character is leaving a trail of blood, still upright and clutching a shotgun despite having been clawed in the face by a zombie.

"This was a terrible idea," Bucky mutters. How can Clint play this shit? He's holding it together okay, but he can't say he's exactly enjoying having these gross fuckers try to eat his brains.

Steve, at least, seems happily oblivious. "See that hole in the ceiling up ahead? Be ready."

There's an unearthly shriek that makes Bucky's skin prickle, then zombies start pouring through the hole. He loses a minute to aim-shoot-repeat, every nerve on high alert as  the air fills with growls and moans. They're pinned in the middle of a crumbling room, and Bucky's instincts are screaming to retreat to higher ground. He's about to suggest this when Steve suddenly darts into the fray, leaving Bucky scrambling to cover his back.

"What the hell, Steve?" Bucky shouts. "Haven't we had this talk?"

"I've got this," Steve yells back. "I bet that door up ahead has supplies. Come on!"

"It's not going to do you much good to find more ammo if you die first, you fucking - "

Across Steve's living room, the door flies open and bangs against the wall, blinding Bucky as light floods in from the hallway. There's a figure silhouetted in the doorway, body tense and poised for attack. Bucky dives behind the couch, unthinkingly pointing his controller at the intruder. There's a beat of frozen silence, then the person in the doorway folds in half and starts to cackle.

"Oh my god," Clint - it's fucking Clint, of course it is - wheezes. "Did you just ... were you going to pause me? Turn my power off?" He sinks to the floor, still sniggering uncontrollably as he wipes at his eyes.

"I wish I could mute you, you asshole," Bucky grumbles. "What are you doing, busting in here like that? What if I'd had a gun for real?"

Clint flaps a hand at him, unconcerned. "I heard yelling. I thought I'd come make sure you two weren't being attacked."

Steve, who's been sitting on the couch, blinking at them in shock, finally speaks up. "We were just playing this game. JARVIS picked it for us."

Clint peers at the screen, where their characters have been overtaken by the mob. "Shit. JARVIS must have developed a sadistic streak."

"I merely recommended one of your favorites, sir," JARVIS says haughtily.

"You couldn't have picked Madden?" Clint retorts. "Or, I dunno, anything without all the shooting and blood?"

"It's fine," Bucky says. "Please don't argue with the all-seeing computer that controls the elevators and hot water."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, it was kind of fun."

"Are you sure?" Clint pins his _don't fuck with me_ stare on Bucky. "You know you can tell us - "

"I'm fine, really." Bucky climbs to his feet and strides across the floor, offering Clint a hand up. "I was kinda wigged out, but it was more in a 'watching a horror movie' way than 'gonna have a traumatic flashback.' Actually, the shooting bits _were_ fun. Kinda makes me want to try it again for real."

Clint eyes him suspiciously for a moment before grinning and clapping him on the shoulder. "Good, because I was talking to Nat earlier, and she wants to start your training tomorrow."

"Oh," Bucky says, aiming for enthusiastic. It's not that he doesn't want to train, but Natasha still kind of scares the crap out of him.

If Clint's face is anything to go by, he doesn't hide it very well. "Tell you what, I bet Phil will go with you to the range. Nat's best at the hand-to-hand stuff, but we can ease you into it."

Bucky sighs in relief. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Okay, well, I'll leave you kids to it." Clint turns to Steve with an exaggerated wink. "Don't keep him up too late, Cap; there's school tomorrow."

Even in the half-light from the hallway, Bucky can see Steve's face turn bright red.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started to have them watch a movie, and then I remembered something similar to this that happened to me in law school. The guy I was seeing dragged his XBox over to my place (I'm strictly a PC gamer) and made me play Left 4 Dead, and it was the middle of the night and I was already suitably creeped out. Then one of the living room windows just randomly fell out of the frame and crashed to the floor, and we both jumped up, prepared to shoot zombies with our controllers. After my heart started beating again, I was like, well, at least it's nice to know I wouldn't just freeze or run away in the event of zombie invasion.
> 
> JARVIS wasn't actually being mean, btw. I'm thinking he figured if Clint was okay with the game, Bucky would be too. 
> 
> Annnyway ... I know I keep saying this, but the next chapter honest-to-god will have plot and things besides these two being fluffy.


	38. Chapter 38

Bucky's faceplanted on his couch, hand twitching for the bottle of water taunting him from the coffee table, when someone raps on his door. He grunts.  
  
"Bucky?" It's Steve, and Bucky wants to smile but every muscle in his body has gone on strike. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Mmph," Bucky says.  
  
The apartment door opens and closes, and a moment later a pair of jean-clad legs appear in Bucky's vision.  
  
"Hey there," Steve says, crouching down to peer at him in concern. "You still alive?"  
  
Bucky's barely seen Steve in the past two days, which he'd spent on the shooting range with Phil, decimating enough paper targets to populate a small forest. Left-handed, right-handed, two-handed. Handguns, assault rifles, shotguns. Then they'd moved on to the live-fire simulation. "Did you know Stark built a Hydra factory in the tower?"  
  
Steve blinks at him. "Do you have a fever?"  
  
Bucky chuckles weakly. "No. The training sim. Friggin' hostile robots shooting at me while I belly-crawled behind some flimsy-ass wooden crates. The crazy bastard even made them spray fake blood when I got a hit. I think I've still got some under my fingernails."  
  
"Sounds .. fun," Steve says with a grimace. "So how'd you do?"  
  
Bucky manages a grin. "Awesome. If I could move my arms, I'd give myself a hand. Still haven't gotten ahold of a sniper rifle, though, and tomorrow is hand-to-hand with Natasha." He sighs. "Would've enjoyed it one last time before she kills me."  
  
Steve rolls his eyes, but he's smiling so fondly that Bucky feels an ache that has nothing to do with exertion. "She's not going to kill you." He reaches out and tugs on a lock of Bucky's hair. "So, listen. It's Monday."  
  
"Mm hm," Bucky agrees. "All day." Steve starts running his fingers through Bucky's hair, gently detangling the knots. Bucky's about 30 seconds from falling asleep when Steve speaks again.  
  
"It's almost 6:00 p.m."  
  
"'m not hungry, Steve," Bucky complains. "Too tired to digest."  
  
Steve laughs. "Well, that's too bad, because you have to eat. That's not what I meant, though." His fingers still, and Bucky opens one eye to see him chewing his lip nervously. "You told Jack you'd go to the meeting at the VA tonight, remember?"  
  
Just like that, the lassitude is gone. Bucky sits up, dislodging Steve's hand. "I don't need to go to a meeting. Did you miss the part where things were shooting at me today and nothing bad happened? I'm totally fine, apart from needing to work on my stamina."  
  
"Bucky ... "  
  
"I don't want to talk about this," Bucky snaps. Steve looks wounded, and Bucky sighs guiltily. "Look, let's go get dinner. Let me shower and we'll go back to that little diner." He starts to stand, but a hand on his shoulder forces him back down.  
  
"You might feel fine today, but that doesn't mean you don't need this," Steve argues. "I talked to someone when I first woke up, and I know Clint and Phil have, too. There's nothing wrong with getting some help."  
  
Bucky takes a deep breath, biting back the urge to shout. This is the most time they've had together since video game night, and he really doesn't want to argue. "If I needed help, I'd ask for it."  
  
"Okay." Steve holds his hands up in surrender. "How about this? I promised Jack that I'd bring you, and he said that if you go, he will too. So will you go for him, if not for yourself?"  
  
"That's not playing fair, Rogers."

Steve gives him a shit-eating grin. "Captain America is always fair."

Bucky rushes through a shower, emerging with dripping hair to discover that Steve has somehow procured a pile of sandwiches. "Did you magic those up here? Because I know there's no food in my fridge."  
  
Steve looks up from setting the small dining table (with real plates. And cloth napkins! What the hell?) "Oh, JARVIS has the basics delivered to all the kitchens weekly."  
  
"Huh." Bucky lifts the tail of his shirt to wipe at the water trickling down his forehead. Maybe he really should get a haircut. "I'm pretty sure I've never eaten sandwiches off china before."  
  
There's no response, and he looks up to find Steve staring at his midsection and blushing hotly. Well.  
  
"Uh." Steve shakes his head, like he's trying to clear away fog. Bucky might feel a little smug. "Yeah, Tony, you know. So! Eat fast; we have to go a bit out of the way to pick up Jack."  
  
Bucky slides into a chair and lifts the top piece of bread curiously. He's pretty sure he's never discussed sandwich toppings with Steve, but it's like this thing was custom made - no onion or pickle, lots of cheese. Tony probably has it in a file somewhere. "How d'ya know he'll even be there?" he asks around a bite.

Steve sits across from him and tears into his own sandwich. Bucky's pretty sure most people would expect Steve to have impeccable table manners and lecture him about talking with his mouth full, but the last time Bucky saw someone eat so fast they'd just been rescued from a three-day stint in a cave. Half the sandwich disappears in one bite, and Steve's busy stuffing runaway toppings between the bread when he finally answers. "Phil's been keeping an eye on him. Well, having someone else keep an eye on him."

"But ... why?" Bucky's honestly bewildered. Yeah, Jack had helped him out, but they'd met for a grand total of five minutes.

Steve shrugs. "You'd have to ask him that. Maybe he just has a thing about helping out vets."

"God help him," Bucky mutters. "Next thing he knows, the poor man'll end up being an Avenger."

*****

Tony lends them a car and his personal driver, because while Bucky spent the entire weekend shut up in the tower, it's apparently been storming. It's not cold, at least - actually it's uncomfortably warm and muggy - but he can't imagine having nowhere to take shelter from the rain. 

Jack is curled up in the same doorway as before, his ratty blankets traded for what looks like a tarp, draped over his head in a makeshift hood. He stands when the car rolls to a stop, squinting suspiciously until Bucky climbs out.

"Well, if it isn't the lost kitten," Jack rasps. He sounds like he's been gargling gravel, and Bucky hides his concern under an unimpressed glare. Jack laughs. "Didn't think I'd see you around here again."

"Well - " Bucky jumps when the driver (he thinks Tony called him Happy, although that could've been a joke) appears next to him and snaps open the world's largest umbrella, shielding all three of them from the rain. Bucky glances at him sideways, but hell, the guy works for Tony Stark. Surely he's learned to keep his mouth shut. "I, uh .. You said if I went to the VA, you'd come? And it's Monday, so ... "

Jack laughs. "Let me guess, you've got Pretty Boy in the car there."

Bucky nearly swallows his tongue. It's better than some of Stark's nicknames for Steve, at least. "Yeah, this was his idea. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he's stubborn, so."

"Hm." Jack eyes him speculatively before standing and unwinding his tarp. He folds it into a square the size of a cell phone and tucks it into a fraying backpack. Bucky catches sight of a toothbrush and travel-sized shampoo and what looks like a single change of clothes. Christ, where does Jack clean up? A fast food place or a gas station, maybe? "All right," Jack says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Let's not keep the man waiting."

They pile back into the car, and Steve starts up an easy conversation with Jack. Bucky thinks they're talking about baseball, but he mostly contributes the occasional grunt. He can't stop thinking about Jack, how but for a chance encounter with a superhero it could've been Bucky living on that derelict street.

"Bad new, folks," Happy calls. "There's an accident ahead. I'm rerouting, but we're going to be a bit late." 

Great. Like this whole thing wasn't bad enough. He won't have a chance to scope out the room, find the exits and the best seats. What if there are no seats left? Are they going to have to stand the whole time? Maybe they'll be asked to leave. And everyone's going to look at them as they come in, and he's not embarrassed to be seen with Jack but it's obvious the man's been living rough, and people might stare. Shit, they're going to stare at his arm, and they'll ask a bunch of questions, and he can't tell that story again, he just can't. What if people recognize Steve? What if someone sells a story about Captain America going to therapy to a newspaper and the Avengers lose credibility? Should he make Steve stay in the car? What if - 

"Bucky." Steve takes his hand, tangling their fingers together gently, and Bucky realizes he's shaking. "It's okay. No one's going to care that we're late. I'm sure it happens all the time."

"Yeah, this is nothing," Happy chimes in. "Tony makes it a point to be at least a half hour late for everything. I think the more important the meeting, the later he is."

Steve chuckles, and Bucky forces a grin. Next to him, Jack's playing with the seat controls and snickering when his ass starts to vibrate, seemingly oblivious to the whole thing. Bucky grits his teeth. He doesn't know why he's being such a goddamn baby when the guy with actual problems is _enjoying_ himself, but that shit's got to stop now. He's fine. Everything is fine. 

They end up only being about five minutes late, although Bucky wastes another few arguing with Steve on the sidewalk.

"If you really don't want me in there, I'll stay outside," Steve says at last, "but if you think I'm worried about my reputation, that's bullshit. No one's going to think less of me for being here, and if they do, they're assholes."

Jack looks impressed. "I knew I liked you, Pretty Boy." To Bucky, he adds, "It's pretty hot when he cusses, am I right? I don't even swing that way, but damn."

"Oh my god," Bucky mutters. "Let's just go in. It can't possibly be any worse than this."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally a play-by-play of Bucky going through training. I spent a week writing and re-writing and researching live-fire simulations and going "Oh my God, this is awful" and deleting the whole thing and starting over. Then I finally decided it just wasn't working and I needed to skip over it. Have I mentioned I hate writing action scenes?
> 
> The good news is that the next chapter will be along shortly. It's mostly written already because I worked on it while I was having trouble with this one.
> 
> Before anyone asks - no, Jack isn't going to become an Avenger, but they're not going to just leave him on the street, either.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I generally think that the PTSD tag and the fact that this story is about Bucky are enough of a warning, but this chapter is a little more intense than usual. There's a very brief and hypothetical mention of suicide and a discussion about various war-related trauma. I don't think it's too bad - I can't handle reading super angsty stuff myself, and I was okay writing it - but I didn't want to not say anything and have it upset someone.

They follow the sound of voices through a warren of dim hallways. The walls are plastered with announcements and brochures, everything from scholarship opportunities to health care programs to job boards. Bucky pauses in front a flier with little detachable slips advertising a website and phone number for the Veterans Crisis Line. He fingers one of the strips. He's heard of suicide prevention hotlines before, but one dedicated entirely to veterans?

Steve comes up behind him, inhaling sharply when he peers over Bucky's shoulder. Bucky reaches back without looking, and Steve latches on to his hand. "You okay?" Steve asks.

"Yeah." There's a poster to Bucky's left, some guy with one of those prosthetic legs that looks like a metal pole, waving to the camera mid-skydive. "I heard all that 'you're not alone' bullshit in the hospital, but ... " But he had been, until Clint, and he hadn't even known places like this really existed. He'd never gotten low enough to need one of those lines, but if he had, would he have used it? Would he have even realized the option was there? "I don't know whether to find this reassuring or depressing."

Steve squeezes his hand. "I get it. It's a shame that it's necessary, but it's good that we have this stuff now. Back in my day - "

"Oh no," Jack interrupts. He pushes away from the wall he'd been slouched against and stalks forward. "I don't care what year you were born; Mr. Baby-Faced Buns of Steel doesn't get to break out the 'back in my day' line."

Steve makes a strangled noise, and Bucky doubles over laughing. "He's got a point, Stevie. I bet I couldn't take you out for a drink without you getting carded." 

Steve huffs in exasperation. "I'm 27! And I thought you were worried about being late?"

"Aw, look at him blush," Jack says, chuckling. "But the man has a point. We stand out here talkin' any longer and we'll miss the whole thing." 

Steve drags Bucky around a corner, still clutching his hand. Bucky's not sure how a bunch of military guys are going to feel about him holding another dude's hand, but he'll be damned if he's gonna let go. Even if he couldn't take care of himself, anyone who wants to kick his ass is going to have to get past Captain America.

The door to the meeting room is standing open, and a calm voice drifts into the hallway. Bucky hesitates - he can't just barge in while someone's talking. Maybe they can just come back next week - but Steve pulls him into the room and guides him toward a cluster of empty chairs. There are maybe ten people there, arranged in a loose circle with a podium at the head. The speaker is a handsome black man a few years older than Bucky, who glances up with a smile but otherwise calls no attention to them. 

"That's Sam," Jack whispers. "The guy who runs this thing."

Bucky tries to pretend he's listening while he scopes out the room. It's a pretty diverse bunch; he spots two women, an olive-skinned man in a wheelchair, a blonde guy with a badly scarred face, and a man who looks to be in his 70s. 

" ... check the message board if you're interested," Sam finishes. He claps his hands once and grins at the group. "So! That's all from me; you guys have the floor. Remember, we don't judge or make personal attacks here, so if you don't have anything helpful to say, shut your trap." There are a few nervous giggles, but no one speaks up. "Aw, come on. You don't even have to come to the podium, see?" He climbs down and takes the empty seat next to Steve. "Am I going to have to start practicing my jokes on you guys again?"

"Please, no," one of the women calls. 

"Yeah," someone agrees. Bucky twists around to see a black kid who can't be out of his teens. "That shit's gotta be against the Geneva Convention or somethin'."

"Ouch!" Sam clutches his chest dramatically, and there's another round of laughter. 

Bucky smiles a little, despite himself. He'd been imagining some stuffy old guy in a tweed jacket, throwing around a bunch of bullshit psychobabble. Steve catches his eye and grins knowingly, and Bucky sticks his tongue out, stifling a laugh when Steve's ears flush pink.

"Um," a voice says quietly. It's the guy in the wheelchair, tentatively raising one hand like a schoolkid. Everyone quiets and turns to look at him, and Bucky feels a surge of secondhand anxiety when the guy ducks his head shyly. "I don't really know how this works, but ... my name's Luca. I came here last week, but I was too afraid to say anything." He wrings his hands and darts a glance at the door, and Bucky's sure he's going to bolt.

"That's all right, man," Sam says easily. "No one has to say anything if they don't want to. Lord knows I talk enough for all of us, sometimes."

Luca huffs a laugh. "Well, I uh ... I'm paralyzed from the waist down." He thumps one of his legs. "Just took one bullet in the exact wrong spot, and ... nothing. I don't really have any family - that's part of why I joined up in the first place - so I was living in this sort of nursing home. I couldn't do anything for myself, you know, hadn't figured out how to go to the bathroom, even. So, yeah. It was good, at first."

Luca takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand over his face, visibly gathering himself. A couple of the other people in the group are wincing, like they know what's coming. Bucky's pretty sure he doesn't want to know. How the hell is this supposed to be helping? Maybe it's nice for this guy to get it off his chest, but listening to other people's horror stories isn't doing Bucky any favors. He glances up and sees Sam watching him.

"Take your time," Sam says, not looking away from Bucky. "Everyone here gets it. That's why we're here, to know we're not alone."

And apparently Sam can read minds.

"Right." Luca nods. "Okay. So at first I was on so many painkillers that all I could do was sleep. But then my body started to heal and my mind decided to fuck with me instead. I was having these screaming nightmares, and the staff was all pissed 'cause I was waking up the other patients. I punched a nurse once when he tried to wake me up, and another time I fell out of bed and no one found me for hours."

"Assholes," Jack mutters. Bucky sneaks a sideways glance, wondering if Jack was in a place like that, if it was so bad that the streets were a better option. He feels sort of guilty for never asking, but he hates it so much when people ask about his own shit that it never occurred to him.

"Eventually," Luca continues, "they got sick of putting up with me and started pumping me full of drugs. Anti-anxiety, anti-depressants, sleeping pills. The longer I was there, the worse it got. It was claustrophobic in that little room, and I never saw anyone but doctors and nurses. I was paranoid and agitated all the time. I complained, and they just doubled my dosage. I tried to convince them it wasn't helping, and when they wouldn't listen I just refused to take any medicine. Quit cold turkey and spent three days puking and hearing voices."

"That's the worst, man," a twentysomething with a scraggly beard pipes up. "I was coming down off benzos one time and thought I was King Arthur and my castle was being attacked by fuckin' dragons. Flooded the shit out of my living room tryin' to build a moat." He finally seems to notice all the eyes trained on him in disbelief and coughs awkwardly. "Uh. This was back in my misguided youth. Obviously." 

Luca's clearly floundering, and Sam shoots bearded guy an exasperated look. "Like running a kindergarten sometimes," Sam mutters. Louder, he adds, "Go on, Luca. You want to tell us how you got out?"

"Yeah." Luca smiles gratefully. "It was a fluke, really. Some social worker type doing volunteer work came around not long after I got off the meds. I told him what was going on, and he hooked me up with a caseworker at the VA. I signed myself out AMA and got placed in a transition house with some other vets, one of whom was Nick here." He gestures to the man with the scarred face. "I still feel like my brain hates me some days, but I can't bring myself to try drugs again. Nick thought this group might help, and he convinced me to come." 

"We're glad he did," Sam says sincerely. He glances at his watch. "We've got about ten minutes, if anyone has something to add."

Nick starts saying something, but Bucky is focused on Luca, trying not to stare. Luca's hands are shaking slightly, but he looks ... lighter. Relieved, maybe, like letting go of that story had taken a load off his shoulders. Bucky remembers how talking to Steve, Clint and Phil had felt, and that was terrifying enough. The thought of telling all these strangers makes him nauseated. 

" ... took me a few weeks to drag him out of his shell," Nick's saying, "but he finally figured out I wasn't gonna judge him for his shit, and you guys won't either. I mean, so he has nightmares. I can't even use the stove, because it's a frigging gas range, and every time I try to turn it on I'm back in Iraq with my face melting off."

Bucky freezes, and he can feel Steve make some kind of aborted movement next to him. He's breathing too fast - counting, he thinks he's supposed to be counting, but he can't remember ... isn't that the kind of thing they should tell you at fucking therapy? He can smell smoke and diesel, and he _knows_ it's not real, but he's lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.  

Steve reaches out slowly, brushing his fingers against Bucky's flesh arm. Bucky's only just with it enough to not rip his hand off, though he twitches violently. Nick's still talking, but Sam is looking at Bucky and he knows a couple of the others have noticed too. Steve leans in, pressing his warm bulk along Bucky's side. After a couple of false starts, Bucky manages a deep breath and catches a faint whiff of Steve's cologne. It's familiar and soothing, makes him think of easy smiles and kind words, and by the time Sam wraps up the meeting Bucky's downgraded from DEFCON 1 to a place where he can nod politely as everyone begins to file out. He's not so sure about standing yet, but Steve hasn't tried to move, either, so he thinks he's good here.

"Hey."

Bucky looks up to find Sam crouched in front of him, holding out a cup of water. He takes it with a mostly steady hand, and it's cold and pure and washes away the feel of sand on his tongue. They're the only ones left in the room, the three of them and Jack, who's at the refreshment table shamelessly cramming muffins into his backpack.

"Sorry about Nick," Sam says. "His defense mechanisms are sarcasm and being an asshole."

Bucky barks out a laugh. "Are shrinks allowed to talk about people like that?"

Sam shrugs. "I'm not a shrink." He holds out a hand. "Sam Wilson, 58th Rescue Squadron."

"Air Force, huh?" Bucky says, shaking quickly before clinging back onto Steve. "I guess I can let it go, this once. I'm Bucky."

"Really?" Sam peers at him closely. "Well, I don't see rabbit teeth. You musta done something to piss off your parents."

"Ha, ha," Bucky says dryly. Steve snickers next to him, and Bucky elbows him in the ribs. "This jerk is Steve." He can see the recognition in Sam's eyes, but Sam just smiles and shakes Steve's hand, and Bucky decides he likes this guy. "I hear you've already met Jack."

Sam laughs. "I don't know how you got him to come. Last time I tried, he called me an interfering mother hen and said that he'd been taking care of himself since before I could wipe my own ass."

"Sounds about right," Bucky says with a snort. "It was all Steve. He can be pretty persuasive."

"I bet." Sam stands and pulls out his wallet, rifling through a wad of cash and photographs and finally emerging with a rumpled business card. "Really need to get a case for these stupid things," he mutters, shoving the wallet back in his pants. "Here. Just in case. I've got to get going, but you should come back next week. Nice to meet you, Bucky. Steve. Good night, Jack!"

"Night, mama bear!" Jack calls after him. He strolls over to Bucky and Steve, dusting at the sugar clinging to his grey beard. "At least this place has decent food. You boys ready to go?"

Bucky shakes his head. At least life isn't boring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't really see much of Sam doing his counselor thing in the movies, but I feel like he'd be pretty laid back. I can't imagine Bucky reacting well to something more formal, anyway.
> 
> I should make it clear that no one's going to be committing or contemplating suicide in this fic, so don't worry. I just don't think it's realistic to talk about veterans' issues and pretend that it's not a problem. The Veterans Crisis Line is a real thing, and according to their website, since 2007 they've answered more than 1.6 million calls and made more than 45,000 lifesaving rescues, and that's not including online chats or texts. I'm also sorry to say that Luca's story is based on a real-life account.
> 
> Now I feel like I should tell you all to go look at pictures of kittens, because that was depressing.


	40. Chapter 40

They drop Jack off with a promise to see him the following Monday, and the rest of the ride to the tower passes in silence. Bucky can tell Steve is concerned, but he honestly doesn't have it in him to talk. He begs off a drink at Steve's in favor of climbing into bed, even though it's barely nine o'clock. 

Bucky flops onto his stomach, not bothering to pull down the covers. He's pretty sure he won't be sleeping, what with his nerves still singing from the near-panic. It doesn't help that his apartment doesn't feel any more like home than the place in Brooklyn, even if this is much nicer. It's like staying in a fancy hotel, no personal touches to show someone actually lives here. He really needs to buy some stuff. Shit, does being an Avenger come with a paycheck? He really should've asked.

"Sergeant Barnes?" JARVIS's voice nearly makes Bucky jump out of his skin. You'd think with the bunch of nutjobs in this tower, voices coming from out of nowhere would be a bad thing.

"I told you, it's Bucky," he snaps.

"Apologies, sir. Mr. Barton would like to know if you're available."

"Whatever," Bucky mutters into a pillow. "Long as I don't have to get up."

A minute later, he feels the bed dip as someone climbs on next to him. "Did you miss the day of kindergarten where everyone learned about personal space?"

"Probably," Clint says cheerfully. He pokes Bucky in the side, and they have a halfhearted slap fight until Bucky finally rolls over to look at him. "How'd it go?" 

Bucky sighs. Why is it that Clint can read his mind right up until he wants to be left alone? "Depressing."

"Yeah?" Clint starfishes on his back, flinging one leg over Bucky's. "Did you like Sam?"

"I'm not even going to ask." Because of course the team had researched the guy at the VA in case he's secretly a supervillain. "I did, actually. He has a good sense of humor. And those rescue guys are pretty badass."

Clint just grins at him.

"What?" Bucky's deeply suspicious of that grin.

Clint laughs gleefully. "You don't know, do you?" 

"What?!" Bucky kicks aimlessly, smirking when Clint yelps.

Clint wriggles a bit, shoving a hand into the pocket of his indecently tight jeans. He pulls out a cellphone and waves it at the ceiling, calling, "JARVIS, do the thing."

"What thing?" Bucky's starting to regret not barricading his door. "And how do you even move in those jeans?" 

"Skintight pants is part of the superhero gig," Clint says petulantly. "Also, they make my ass look amazing. Here."

Clint thrusts his phone at Bucky, who bobbles it for a second before registering that he's looking at a (classified, and seriously, the Earth's biggest heroes are a bunch of criminals) service record. Sam's service record, to be exact, and the bastard had apparently left out a few details, because holy shit.

"Is that a jet pack?" Bucky demands. His 10-year-old self is so jealous. Really, his adult self kind of is, too.

"Yep. I'm pretty sure Stark's in his workshop right now with the plans, trying to make a better one." Clint takes his phone back and types something before tossing it aside.

"Please tell me you're not trying to adopt another Avenger," Bucky says. "Sam actually seems to have a life."

"I feel like I should be insulted," a voice says from the doorway. Natasha saunters in, dressed in a t-shirt and yoga pants and carrying what looks like a canvas shopping bag.

Natasha. In his bedroom. "Thanks for the warning, JARVIS." Bucky wonders for a second if the AI can understand sarcasm, but really, that's probably the first thing Tony taught him.

"I invited her," Clint says, sliding off the bed to take the bag from Natasha. 

Bucky's expecting maybe knives or some other painful implement of death, so he just gapes stupidly when Clint pulls out three pints of ice cream. Natasha disappears into his kitchen and returns with spoons. Bucky pinches himself just in case he's dreaming.

"Chocolate fudge brownie," Clint says, tossing Bucky a carton.

Natasha holds out a spoon, laughing (laughing!) when Bucky eyes it warily. "I'll only kill you with a spoon if you try to steal my chocolate chip cookie dough," she assures him, climbing onto the edge of the bed and nudging him until he scoots over. 

Clint settles in on the other side, popping the lid off his ice cream and inhaling deeply. "Ahh, peanut butter cup, how I've missed you. This is so worth the extra miles I'll have to run tomorrow."

Natasha makes an affirmative noise. Bucky still isn't sure he's not dreaming.

"What are you waiting for, Barnes?" Clint asks. "Don't think she won't steal yours if you give her the chance. Hey, where's your remote?" He gestures at the television mounted across from the bed. "Never mind. JARVIS, find us something funny."

Bucky finally remembers how to speak, but somehow the first thing to come out of his mouth is, "Do you guys have a file on my favorite foods?"

"Just go with it, man," Clint advises him. "My second day here, I came home to find my bathroom stocked with my preferred brand of lube. It's creepy but convenient." He shrugs.

"Uh huh." Bucky's not sure he wants to let that go, but he decides he has bigger issues. "So, you want to tell me why you two are in my bed? I mean, you I get, sort of, but I haven't actually spoken to Natasha since she stalked me, and I kind of thought she wanted me dead."

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead," Natasha says around a mouthful of cookie dough. It's still pretty intimidating. "But Clint likes you, and he's my best friend."

"Okay ... " Bucky looks to Clint for help.

"I trust you, and she trusts me," Clint says. "'s just how it works. Neither one of us is great with people - I mean, for real, and not in a 'lulling you into complacency' kind of way. The difference is I talk a lot, and Natasha does the opposite. But anyway, you're one of us now, so Nat's got your back."

"And we're in my bed eating ice cream and watching ... What the hell is this?"

"Pee Wee's Big Adventure," Clint says happily. "It's a classic."

"Because? I mean, you're aware I'm not a girl who's just had a breakup?" He catches Natasha's raised eyebrow and hastily adds, "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Because," Natasha says, "this is what we do when one of us is hurting. It's tradition."

"Beats getting blackout drunk or staying on the range 'til you drop from exhaustion." Clint smiles ruefully. "It took us a long time to figure out that we could lean on each other. Neither of us was really used to that kind of thing. And even then Phil was the one who suggested it - not the ice cream part, though; that was my idea."

Bucky just shakes his head. This is a whole new kind of codependent. And he's still not sure why there are two Avengers in his bed.

"Look," Clint says, suddenly serious. "We know it's been a tough day. Physically and mentally. You can pretend you're fine all you want, but I know hearing the kind of shit that gets dredged up at those groups isn't easy. I can get why you don't want Steve to see it, cause you're still in that trying to impress each other stage and he's so - " He flaps a hand, face scrunched up in thought.

"Wholesome?" Natasha suggests.

"Yeah, that," Clint agrees. "But I don't think you really want to be alone right now. So. Tradition." 

Bucky pokes at his melting ice cream. He doesn't really think ignoring them until they go away is going to work. And if he's being honest, he doesn't want to be alone. He glances at Natasha, who has a little smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth and a lock of hair escaping from her ponytail. She looks so ... human. Not the emotionless stone-cold killer, but a real person, who he could maybe be friends with. On screen, Pee Wee says, "There's a lotta things about me you don't know anything about ... Things you wouldn't understand." Bucky has to laugh. 

Somehow he's found these people who do understand, and that ... He thinks that might be even better than being an Avenger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone still with me after that last chapter? I promise it's mostly uphill from here. 
> 
> So I have this weird thing with fics involving Natasha. I've seen a lot of people write her like she's incapable of having or understanding emotions, and I get that she's a bit damaged, but I hate to think that's all there is to her. My headcanon is that Phil taught her and Clint how to be functional human beings, and even if they aren't great at it they've gotten a lot better over the years. For instance, Clint never used to trust anyone, and now he's the human octopus - once he decides he trusts someone he sort of loses sight of all boundaries. And as far as Nat is concerned, this is normal behavior. Anyway, I like to think that she's quiet and not great at showing it, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have feelings.


	41. Chapter 41

Bucky wakes up alone, stripped to his t-shirt and underwear and tucked under his blankets. He remembers polishing off the ice cream - more than he's eaten at a time in months, and he guesses it's a kind of progress even if his stomach hates him - and JARVIS pulling up another movie when the first one ended. He finds his phone next to his head, two text messages waiting for him. One is from Natasha, reminding him about training. The other is Steve asking if he wants to do lunch, and Bucky feels a little guilty when he remembers blowing Steve off last night. He probably owes him an apology.

It's early, not quite 7:00 a.m., but he knows Steve is usually up with the sun. He starts to throw on yesterday's clothes, then considers Clint's words about the "trying to impress each other" stage and dives into the shower. If he wastes five minutes trying to decide whether a day's worth of stubble makes him look rakish or bedraggled ... well, no one has to know.

Steve opens his door with a look of confusion that quickly turns pleased when he sees Bucky, and shit ... Bucky's heard all those cliches about ice melting and walls crumbling, but he thinks this is the first time he's really understood how it feels when someone worms their way into your heart. Whatever weird-ass Victorian courtship they've got going here - they haven't even kissed, for fuck's sake - he can't deny that just seeing Steve brightens his day.

"Hey!" Steve says, throwing the door wider. "Come on in. Sorry, I didn't expect - I was just down in the gym."

He looks a little flustered, and when he moves aside Bucky sees why. Steve is wearing a grey shirt that looks like it was poured into a mold and made just for his skin. His shorts are black and ... tiny. Very tiny. His hair is mussed and damp with sweat, and Bucky wonders if it's possible to orgasm while looking at a man who's still fully dressed.

"Um." Steve runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up in spikes. "D'you want breakfast? I saw this recipe for cinnamon rolls on the Food Network" - _Oh my God_ , Bucky thinks, _that's too adorable for words_ \- "that I had to try. They sat overnight and I baked them before I went to the gym, so they just need icing." Bucky's on the verge of opening his mouth to explain that he's still full of ice cream and may never eat again when Steve adds, "I, uh, couldn't really sleep last night, and baking is sort of soothing."

Well, hell. Steve was up all night stress baking because Bucky's emotionally constipated. Now he has to try the damn cinnamon rolls. "That sounds great," Bucky says with every bit of enthusiasm he can muster. It must work, because Steve beams at him. "Um, do you want to shower? I can probably manage to make icing."

Steve blushes a little, looking down at his clothes. "Yeah, that'd be great. The recipe's on the counter."

He scurries off, and Bucky isn't even going to pretend like he doesn't stare until that ridiculous ass disappears from sight. He finds the printed recipe, which is two pages long, Jesus, and scans it until he finds the bit about icing. It looks easy enough, even for someone who's never really cooked. The cream cheese and sugar are already measured out on the counter, and the milk is in the fridge, so all he has to do is ... "The fuck is a stand mixer?"

He's about to pull out his phone and Google it when JARVIS responds, "I believe you'll find what you need in the second cabinet to the left of the sink."

Bucky pulls out a gleaming red monstrosity with a silver bowl. There are a bunch of attachments rattling around in the box, one of which even he can recognize as a whisk, but there's also some kind of weird twisty hook thing, and he wonders if Steve's taken to hiding weapons in the kitchen. He sets the other pieces aside with a dubious look and attaches the whisk.

The cream cheese and milk blend together nicely, and he's starting to think he has the hang of this cooking thing. Then he reaches for the powdered sugar. "Sift in ... ?" He can remember his grandmother sifting flour, but that had been with this metal bucket-looking thing with a hand crank, and he kind of doubts there's anything like that in this kitchen. Shrugging, he dumps the entire bowl into the running mixer. _Poof_. "Shit! What the - " He inhales a cloud of sugar and just manages to turn away from the icing before he starts sneezing violently. There's white powder clinging to his eyelashes, and the mixer is still whirring away but he can't fucking see.

"Bucky?" A Steve-shaped blur barrels into the kitchen and shuts off the mixer. Bucky sneezes again and hears a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snicker. "What happened?"

Bucky hears water running, then a wet cloth is pressed into his hands. He scrubs at his face irritably. "I don't know! I mean, I was supposed to sift - do you even _have_ a sifter? - but it just went off like a friggin' bomb." He finally manages to clear his vision just in time to look up and catch Steve (who had apparently run out of the bathroom in alarm without grabbing a shirt, holy shit) biting his lip, red-faced and shaking. Bucky glares.

"Uh, I usually just stir it with a fork. But you're not really supposed to dump it all in at one time." A little snicker escapes, and Bucky can't even be irritated because Steve just looks so happy. "Here." Steve takes the cloth back from him. "You've still got a little ... " He leans in, rubbing gently at a spot just over Bucky's left eyebrow. He's so close that Bucky can see little freckles on his nose and the sweep of dark eyelashes against his cheekbones.

"Thanks," Bucky croaks. He's this close to grabbing Steve and throwing him down on the counter, because there's no way the asshole doesn't know what he's doing, but Steve just nods in satisfaction and steps away.

"It should still be fine," Steve says, grabbing a spoon and doing something to the mixer that involves a lot of scraping. Bucky doesn't know what, because he's turned away trying to regain control of the bulge in his pants.

Steve switches the mixer back on for a minute, and by the time he's done Bucky's mostly recovered. _Is_ Steve teasing him on purpose? Seriously, in every movie he's ever seen, this would be the point where the sexual tension finally breaks and they have wild sex in the middle of the icing-covered floor. Instead, Steve hands him a knife and points him toward the cinnamon rolls. He kind of wants to scream.

Instead, Bucky dutifully starts icing the rolls, which do look pretty amazing, while Steve excuses himself to finish getting dressed. Bucky does a messy but passable job, and he can still hear Steve moving around in his bedroom when he's finished. He hesitates, then whips out his phone to text Clint. **About**   **** **to die from sexual frustration. Please send help.**

 **Wtf**? Clint answers immediately. **Are you with Steve?**

 **There's baked goods and shirtlessness** , Bucky responds. **Captain America is a fucking tease.**

**Dude, the guy's like a 100-year-old virgin. I'm not sure he knows how to tease.**

**Shirtless. Baking.** Bucky types furiously.

 **Seriously, you might have to make the first move.** Then, a second later, **Nat says she**   **expects details**.

Bucky sighs. Why was he happy to have friends, again?

Steve pops back in the kitchen just as Bucky stows his phone away. He's wearing a shirt, unfortunately, but he seems to have taken his cue from Clint on how to buy jeans.

"These look great," Steve says happily. He makes quick work of dishing up the cinnamon rolls and glasses of milk, and they end up balancing their food on their laps, side-by-side on the couch. The television is already switched on, and Bucky's not at all surprised to discover that Steve watches Good Morning America. 

The cinnamon rolls are just about the best thing Bucky's ever tasted in his life, soft and sweet and sticky, and he's halfway through a second one before he even comes up for air. Steve is making indecent noises and _licking his fingers_ , and Bucky tries to pretend he's very invested in the drought plaguing the Midwest. Steve takes a big drink of milk and slowly licks the white mustache off his lips, and ... nope. Bucky can't take any more. His libido has been nothing but a distant memory for months, and now it's decided to come roaring back and take over his entire life. He's two seconds away from bolting when Steve speaks.

"So, how was your night? Did you sleep okay?" 

Bucky nods his head, trying to simultaneously answer and reroute blood flow to his brain. "Yeah, it was good. Clint and Natasha came by and sort of forced me to hang out, but I ended up sleeping like a baby. I'm also 95% sure that Natasha doesn't want to kill me anymore."

Steve laughs. "Well, that's good."

He looks sincere, but Bucky can't help but feel bad. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Steve blinks at him in surprise. "For what?"

"Last night." Bucky avoids Steve's eyes, dusting a bit of sugar off his knee. "I knew you were worried, but I just ditched you, and then I ended up spending time with someone else, and you were up all night baking - "

"Hey." Steve stacks their dishes haphazardly on the coffee table and reaches for Bucky's  hands. It may not be cream-cheese-flavored sex, but it's ridiculously comforting. Steve twists around to face him, and there are those damnable eyelashes again. "I never get much sleep. That's not your fault. I _was_ worried, because I care about you and I could tell you were hurting, but Clint and Natasha obviously helped. I don't care that it wasn't me, as long as you feel better."

Steve Rogers, actual perfect human being. Bucky can't even formulate a response. Those blue eyes are boring into him, beautiful and intense, and if Bucky had any courage at all he'd lean in and close the distance between them. Instead, he whispers, "Thank you."

Steve leans in, pressing their foreheads together. Bucky's breath catches in his throat. "Is it okay if I - " 

"God, yes," Bucky blurts out. Then he winces, because wow, that was smooth, Barnes.

Steve chuckles, a puff of cool air against Bucky's lips, and closes the distance. It's gentle and unpracticed, nearly chaste, but so genuine that Bucky's heart aches. Steve tastes like cinnamon and sugar, like comfort and warmth and home.

Even when they finally separate, Steve doesn't go far, nestling his cheek against Bucky's. They sit for long minutes, breathing together and basking in contentment, until Bucky suddenly smothers a laugh. Steve's nose wrinkles in confusion, and it's so cute that Bucky just has to drop a kiss on it before he explains.

"I get to tell Clint he was wrong." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 41 chapters it took them to kiss. 41 short chapters, granted, but holy crap. I did say it'd be a slow burn. And now I'm so nervous after all the buildup.
> 
> [Cinnamon rolls.](http://altonbrown.com/overnight-cinnamon-rolls-recipe/) Because you can't go wrong with Alton Brown. And I can't write a chapter without food.


	42. Chapter 42

Bucky practically skips to the gym, high on sugar and endorphins. It had been hard to drag himself away from Steve, but he's actually looking forward to getting some exercise. The sooner he's in shape, the sooner he can really join the Avengers.

Natasha's waiting for him in the middle of what looks like a bunch of tumbling mats, barefoot and dressed in her standard black. She takes one look at him and whips out her phone with a smirk. He's still blinking away the camera flash when her thumbs start flying over the keys. He cranes his neck to see a picture of himself, looking flushed and a little dopey, with the caption  **You owe me five bucks.**

If this was Clint, Bucky would rip the phone away and delete the photo and probably smack him upside the head. While he's fairly sure Natasha won't kill him, he's not going to press his luck. 

"Clint didn't think you'd make a move," she explains. "I told him I know the look of a man with too much pent-up sexual frustration. You were bound to snap soon."

"I wish I was surprised that you two were betting on my sex life," Bucky says. He thinks there must be something wrong with him, because he mostly feels amused. "I didn't realize I was so obvious."

Natasha shrugs, still focused on her phone."I'm trained to notice things." She glances up, something soft in her eyes. "And I know that yesterday was a big day for you. It makes sense that you'd be ... rediscovering certain feelings."

Bucky has apparently lost the capacity for embarrassment, because surely talking to the Black Widow about his sex drive would send a normal man running from the room. "It wasn't actually me," he mutters. "Who ... made the move."

Natasha's head snaps up, and he sees a flash of honest surprise. "Well. I didn't think Steve had it in him. Good for him." She goes back to texting, chuckling a moment later at the response. "Clint has questions about supersoldier stamina. I told him the two of you haven't actually had sex yet." 

"How could you - " Bucky squawks. "Do you have JARVIS spying for you?"

Natasha rolls her eyes, finally setting aside her phone. "Please. Anyone who's ever met the two of you should know better. Also, I seriously doubt you'd have made our nine a.m. training if you'd gotten laid this morning."

Well. She's not wrong.

"So," Natasha says, rubbing her hands together briskly. "Let's get started. I'm assuming you've had some close-combat training?"

"Uh, yeah. It was pretty basic, though. And it's been a while." Bucky hopes the _so please don't hurt me_ is implied. 

Natasha frowns in disapproval and mutters under her breath. Bucky thinks he catches something derogatory about the Army, and he'd probably be offended if he hadn't seen footage of her taking down a seven-foot-tall alien with her bare hands.

Two hours later, Bucky is bruised and limping, sweat dripping from his brow and stinging his eyes. Natasha's training consisted of some strange combination of martial arts and dirty back-alley fighting, and he'd used muscles he didn't even know he had. He collapses spread-eagle on the mats.

"I'm tapping out," he gasps. "I can't feel my legs."

Natasha leans over, peering into his face. "You'll live." She disappears for a moment, then a bottle of water appears above him. "You did good."

Bucky props himself up on an elbow and chugs half of the water before responding. "Really? 'Cause I feel like you kicked my ass."

"Oh, I did," Natasha agrees, flopping down next to him. "But there was never any doubt of that. You lasted longer than I thought you would."

"Gee, thanks," Bucky says dryly. "So we can never do this again, right?" He gives her his best sad eyes.

She snorts. "I'll give you tomorrow to recover. We'll meet again Thursday morning." She prods his prosthetic arm with her toes. "How's that thing holding up?"

"It's great." He holds up the arm, wiggling the gleaming fingers. "I honestly forget sometimes, until I catch a flash of silver. I can't begin to understand how it works, but I don't even have to take it off to shower." He's silent for a moment. He hasn't even told Clint or Steve this, but ... "I almost feel guilty, you know? I heard all these horror stories about prosthetics, and it's like, just 'cause I'm lucky enough to know Tony Stark ... "

Natasha makes a sympathetic noise. "I think we all feel that way. Every one of us has done things we're not proud of that make us feel like we don't deserve all of this."

"Except Steve," Bucky amends, "but he thinks he doesn't deserve it because he can't see how special he is."

"Aww," Natasha says, not entirely insincerely. There's a long pause, and Bucky nearly drifts off before she speaks again. "You know, I bet Stark would mass produce those arms if you asked him."

Bucky shakes his head. "I couldn't do that. He's so busy."

Natasha scoffs. "A few days ago I caught him trying to install an ejector seat into his Aston Martin, like in James Bond."

Bucky snickers. He kind of loves Tony.

"Seriously," Natasha continues. "Talk to him. But take a shower first. You stink."

"You aren't exactly a walking ad for Chanel over there," Bucky retorts. 

Natasha swats at him halfheartedly. "Go on, get out of here."

*****

Bucky talks himself out of going to see Tony a dozen times while he's showering. He spends five minutes debating getting into the elevator, and he's on minute four of skulking outside the lab when Tony's voice comes through the speaker.

"Are you just going to lurk out there all day?"

The doors slide open, and Bucky steps inside cautiously. The thing is, he has no right to ask Tony for anything. He's already living rent-free in his tower, eating his food and using his facilities, and he's got a brand new, badass arm. 

But. He's already learned that there's a lot of downtime in being an Avenger, and he needs something to do with his days besides catch up on a decade of television. Tony has his gadgets, Steve has art, Natasha apparently enjoys ballet, Clint and Phil have each other and ... whatever they do together. Bruce presumably has some kind of relaxing hobby. Bucky doesn't really know who he is when he's not a soldier.  He's good at math. He likes music and books but doesn't own much of either. He's not eager to try cooking again any time soon, and he's pretty sure his body can't handle taking on a sport in addition to Natasha's training.

Maybe, though, he can find a way to be useful, to help people like himself. People who are lost and suffering but don't have billionaire friends to help them. People who have fallen through the cracks, like Jack. If Tony can make more of the prosthetic arms ... well, that's a pretty small group of people, really, but it's a start.

"Hey." Tony's slouched on a rolling stool, and when he straightens Bucky can hear his neck crack from across the room. There's a lump of twisted metal on the workbench in front of him that Bucky can't identify, but he knows better by now than to ask. "What's up? You look kind of ... not as happy as someone who made out with a supersoldier this morning should."

"Oh my god, really?" Bucky throws his hands up in exasperation.

"Was it bad?" Tony asks sympathetically. "You have to give him time. He hasn't kissed anyone since the 40s."

"What? No! It was great. I mean - this is not why I came here." Bucky pushes aside a stack of papers and flops on a chair. "It's about the arm."

"Oh!" Tony braces his foot on the bench and shoves, sending the stool careening across the lab. He comes to a sudden and noisy stop when he collides with a metal table. "Oof! Hang on." He starts pawing through piles of electronic detritus and paperwork, finally emerging with a StarkPad. "I've got the plans ready to go for the next model. I know you don't want lasers, even though I think that's _stupid_ , but I think we can increase the pounds of force - "

"Whoa!" Bucky snatches the tablet away, then has to hide a grin at the sight of Iron Man pouting like a child. "That's great, but it's not what I meant. I, uh ... " Shit, this is ridiculous. He can't ask Tony Stark to spend a bunch of time and money on something that won't even benefit him. "You know what? Never mind. It's not important."

"Hey, now." Tony reaches out and snags his wrist."I'll have you know that everything I make is important. What about the arm?"

Bucky sighs. "It's just something Natasha said, about how maybe you could mass produce prosthetics. I thought ... There are a lot of people out there who aren't as lucky as me, and the stuff on the market right now is kind of terrible."

He ducks his head, afraid to see derision in Tony's eyes. There's a giant circular burn mark on the floor, and he wonders how in the hell - 

"That's a great idea," Tony says, leaping to his feet. He steals the tablet back and starts typing furiously. I'll have to sort out the artificial skin, but that won't be a problem."

"Um." Bucky stares at him in disbelief. "Really? I mean, I thought you'd be too busy."

Tony shrugs. "I can make time. I do have an entire legion of engineers to do my bidding. And anyway, this is purely selfish. Makes me, SI, and the Avengers all look good. It's win-win." 

"Sure, Tony." Bucky's obviously been spending too much time with Clint, because he's tempted to go in for a hug. Instead, he claps Tony on the shoulder. "So, maybe you could let me know when it's all ready to go? I'm not sure how this stuff works, but if we can find some way to help vets with the cost, I'd like to be involved." 

"Yeah," Tony says uncomfortably, "about that. I have exactly one friend in the military, and I'm pretty sure that half the time he wants to kill me. But we can shop around, find someone who looks trustworthy to take care of that stuff."

"Actually ... " Bucky says, thinking about the rumpled business card in his wallet. "I might have that covered." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Is that plot I see on the horizon? This chapter is mostly transition, but up next Sam will meet more Avengers (and probably regret his entire life). Then we'll have some Avenging and the return of protective!Bucky.
> 
> Also, I realized I haven't written a side story in forever, if anyone has a suggestion for something they want to see.


	43. Chapter 43

Bucky leaves Tony to his geniusing and wanders back to his apartment, where he proceeds to sit on the bed and stare blankly at Sam's card. He hates calling people when he might be disturbing them. He hates talking to people he doesn't know. He hates asking for help more than both of those things combined. But this isn't for him, it's for all the people who are going to benefit from Tony's inventions, and he needs someone who knows how to get shit done.

The phone rings three times, and he's starting to think he'll make it out of this only having to leave a message.

Then an out-of-breath voice gasps, "Wilson."

"Um." Wow, this is even worse than Bucky imagined. Sam's clearly busy; this was such a bad idea. "Hi. This is Bucky, from - " He's cut off by a piercing wail, and he yanks the phone away from his ear, wincing.

"Sorry," Sam says tiredly. "It's kind of loud here." He's not kidding. Bucky can hear one child screaming in the background while the other continues to cry. "We're having a bit of a disagreement over a dump truck." 

Bucky means to say something useful, like _I can call back later,_ but what comes out is, "Dump truck?"

Sam makes an affirmative noise. "My nephew announced that only boys should play with trucks, so my niece stole it and kicked him in the shin. They're in time out" - he raises his voice - "and neither one of them gets to play until they both apologize!" There's an uptick in whining, and Sam sighs. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"I don't know if you remember me," Bucky begins. "I was at the VA?"

"No, of course I don't remember the dude with the silver arm who was hanging out with Captain America," Sam says.

Bucky huffs out a surprised laugh. "You noticed that, huh? Thanks for, you know, not making a big deal."

"Shit, man, you already looked ready to bolt. I try not to chase away my group members." Sam hesitates. "To tell you the truth, a friend of yours contacted me before the meeting."

"Oh, no." Bucky groans. "I'm so sorry. I promise none of them will actually stab you in your sleep or send a killer robot after you or whatever they threatened."

Sam laughs. "I think the guy said his name was Coulson? He was very calm and polite while he threatened me; it was scary as hell. I get it, though. I'm not gonna be the guy who makes Cap's life even harder."

"He was mostly there for me," Bucky admits. "I guess he actually listened when they suggested therapy, and he's got his shit a lot more together than I do."

"Yeah? You must be pretty important to him, then."

Bucky freezes, because even if he wanted to out Steve, he's not sure what to call him. Boyfriend? They've only kissed the once.

"Sorry," Sam says after an awkward silence. "I'm nosy for a living; it's hard to turn it off sometimes. You wanna tell me why you called?"

"Yeah, uh, you know Tony Stark?" Bucky asks.

"I know _of_ Tony Stark, sure," Sam replies. "If you're asking if I've ever met the man, we don't exactly travel in the same social circles."

Bucky snorts. "I would've said the same thing a couple weeks ago. He's the one who built me this arm, and it kind of makes the shit they showed me in the hospital look like it was designed by a five-year-old. So ... well, I heard something you said the other night, about it being easier for people who have a lot to keep them busy? And I thought, it's not really fair that I'm the only person in the world who has this thing, and it turns out Tony's willing to make them available to the public." Shit, he's rambling. "Anyway, we talked about figuring out a way to make it affordable for vets, and I wondered if you have any ideas about how to get the word out."

There's a long pause. Bucky wonders if Sam's contemplating hanging up on his crazy ass or just trying to figure out a nice way to say it's a terrible idea.

"The thing is," Sam says slowly, "you can't just invent a new prosthetic and start selling it. The FDA will have to be involved, and let me tell you, working with government agencies is a shitshow."

Oh. Christ, Bucky's an idiot. How had he never considered that the government would get involved? He wonders if it didn't occur to Tony, or if the man just didn't give a damn and had plans to skirt around the rules. So much for his great idea. Maybe he'll have to see if Steve can teach him to draw.

"What we could do, though," Sam adds, "is have veterans be involved in the studies."

Bucky perks back up. "We could do that?"

"I don't see why not," Sam says. "The Department of Veterans Affairs has funded this kind of thing before. I know a few people I could talk to, if you want."

"Yes!" Bucky's a little embarrassed about how excited he sounds, but fuck it, this might actually work.

"Okay," Sam says, chuckling. "This is a good thing you're doing, you know. I'd offer to get started right now, if I didn't have to go drag Thing 1 and Thing 2 out of the corner."

"Babysitting?" Bucky asks. "I mean, I just assumed you're not raising them - "

"God no," Sam says. "I've had 200-pound, combat-trained men in the middle of flashbacks throwing furniture at me, and that doesn't scare me nearly as much as the idea of raising kids. My older sister has the flu, and she guilt-tripped me. 'But Sam, I might be contagious. And don't you remember all those times I had to stay home on a weekend and babysit you when Mom and Dad wanted to go out?'"

Bucky cracks up. "They're not happy to be hanging out with Uncle Sam?"

"Oh, sure," Sam says. "They love it. It's like a vacation. But I live in a tiny little apartment with no yard, and they've already drawn ketchup portraits on the walls and tried to flush a bottle of cologne down the toilet. I guess we could go to the park, but the idea of taking two kids on the subway is more than my nerves can handle."

"Uh, yeah," Bucky says. "The subway is more than my nerves can handle, period." Then he winces, because that was a little too honest.

Sam doesn't make a big deal, though, just chuckles a little and says, "Could be worse. At least the dog is still home with their mama." 

A distant female voice calls, "Saaaam! Bobby just spit at me!"

Sam sighs. "I'd better go. I'll give you a call in a couple days and let you know what I find out."

"Thanks," Bucky says. "Really."

Sam hangs up just as the little boy starts shouting, "She started it!" and Bucky has to grin. Sam seems like a great guy, their project might actually have a hope of working out, and Bucky managed an entire conversation with a virtual stranger. Things are looking up.

*****

Bucky wakes to the sound of JARVIS calling his name, and he blinks around his sunny bedroom in confusion. He must've taken an accidental nap after talking to Sam, and it was at least long enough that all his muscles have locked up.

"Sir?" JARVIS says insistently. "Your presence is required in the briefing room."

Bucky shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "I don't ... there's a briefing room?"

"If you'll step into the elevator, I will direct you."

Bucky's pretty sure he can hear an unspoken  _so hurry the hell up_ in the AI's voice. He runs his hands through his hair - probably making things worse, if he's honest - and hobbles out of the room. JARVIS directs him to a locked door in a part of the tower he hasn't seen before. From his quick glimpse of the hallway, the floor looks to be mostly conference rooms and labs.

He's peering at some kind of security panel when the door flies open and Tony drags him inside, saying, "Sorry, forgot we hadn't programmed you yet. " He's wearing the bottom half of the Iron Man armor and clutching a phone in one hand. Bucky's stomach sinks. "Come on, we don't have much time."

The door closes behind them, and Bucky nearly trips over his own feet when he turns around to look at the room. "Holy shit. This looks like that room from the movies, you know, where the president always gets the bad news?

Tony laughs. "The Situation Room? Please, that thing is lame in real life. This is much cooler."

There's a massive, gleaming wood table littered with stray papers and bits of superhero costumes. The walls are covered with holographic projections, mostly maps and surveillance photos. Whatever's going on, it seems to involve Alaska and those assholes with the yellow suits.

"These guys again?" Bucky asks. He tries for humor, because otherwise he's going to let himself think about Steve and explosions, and ... no.

"Yeah," Clint answers, "apparently when we chased them out of Europe, they decided relocating to the fucking North Pole sounded like a good idea." He's sitting with his bare feet propped up on the table but is otherwise fully dressed in his field suit. "We just got the tip from SHIELD."

"I though you weren't with SHIELD anymore?" Bucky asks, crossing the room to check out a set of blueprints on the wall.

"Technically, no, but we do have a working relationship," Phil responds without looking up from his tablet. "Director Fury knows the Avengers have history with this particular group."

"Okay," Bucky says slowly. "So, what's going on? Why am I here? I know you're not sending me out yet."

"No," Phil says, "but I thought this would be a good opportunity for you to see how a mission is run. You can listen to the comms and watch the feed from Tony's helmet. I have a feeling you'll have valuable input."

"Well, thanks for the confidence, I guess." Bucky finally makes himself look at Steve. His cowl and gloves are on the table in front of him, and he's watching Bucky with concern. Does he think Bucky can't handle the mission? Bucky frowns and turns back to the blueprints. "Is this a factory?"

"Weapons," Phil confirms. 

"Not just weapons," Tony says, looking disgruntled. "Experimental weapons. Shitty experimental weapons. They'll probably blow up in the hands of the first person to use them, and I'm tempted to just let it happen."

"Tony!" Steve snaps.

"What? Anyone who buys weapons from these assholes deserves it," Tony snarls back. 

"That's enough," Phil says mildly.

Tony huffs and flops down in a chair. "Fine. Can we go now?"

"As soon as we're all clear on our jobs here," Steve replies. "I'll go in first - "

Tony scoffs. "Uh, no? How about we send the giant indestructible guy in first? Hulk can smash down the door while we focus on any perimeter security, and then - "

The conversation devolves into loud bickering and childish insults, and yeah, Bucky can see now how the dumbass plans happen. He's mostly ignoring them in favor of studying the blueprints, and he can't help but think the egos are getting in the way of the obvious. "Guys? I think I found - "

"Am I just supposed to stand around with my thumb up my ass?" Clint chimes in. "Because I noticed I'm not mentioned in these plans of yours."

"Guys!" Bucky shouts, banging his artificial hand on the table. Everyone jumps and turns to him in surprise. "First of all, Steve, every plan does not have to involve you being a self-sacrificing idiot." Steve opens his mouth, looking wounded, but Bucky cuts him off. "And Tony, you guys are supposed to be a team. Quit antagonizing him." He jabs a finger at the blueprints. "If any of you had been thinking instead of arguing, you might have noticed there's a helipad on the roof of this building."

There's a stunned silence, which Bucky maybe enjoys more than he should. "There are also two entrances, the main one and this loading dock, so if you just smash down the front door, they're going to escape. You know, exactly like what happened _last time._ " 

Phil turns to him, lips quirked in a small grin. "Then what would you suggest?"

"Attack on two fronts," Bucky says. "There's got to be access to the building from the roof. The rest approach on the ground. They will have planned for the Hulk smashing down the door, so go for stealth instead. You've got two former spies; use them. You'll divide their forces, and they'll have to scramble for a new plan."

"Well," Steve says, grinning broadly. "You heard the man. Let's suit up."

There's a flurry of activity, accompanied by some mild bickering about who gets to take the jet and whether Clint or Natasha are sneakier, but on the whole it's a peaceful group that's ready to depart mere minutes later. Bucky gets pats on the arm from the team (and a hug, in Clint's case) as they file out, but Steve lingers.

"Thanks for that," Steve says. "I always let Tony rile me up."

"Yeah, well, you're not expendable, dumbass," Bucky says. "You don't always have to lead the charge. I'll be really pissed if something happens to you, you know." 

"I know." Steve smiles shyly, ducking his head a little. "I'm sorry to leave you here, but I know you'll be okay. And when I get back, you owe me a date."

"Oh yeah?" Bucky can't help but grin back. Steve believes in him. Steve wants to go on another date.

"Yep," Steve says. "It's your turn to pick." He winces suddenly. "Tony's shouting in the comms. I've got to go." 

Bucky gently grips the back of Steve's neck and angles him down for a kiss. (If he still has to stretch on his toes a little, he's not admitting it.) It's fast and a little clumsy, and he can see Phil doing a poor job of pretending not to watch, but it's still freaking amazing. "See you soon."

Bucky watches Steve go, sighing when the echo of his footsteps dies away. "Quit smirking, Coulson."

Phil laughs. "Here, have a seat. I'll show you how all this works. There's the audio and video feeds. We can tap into the comms, and I can also communicate with JARVIS." 

Bucky watches him move around the room, confident and efficient, and has a sudden suspicion. "Hey, Phil? You knew about the helipad, didn't you?"

"Of course. I was going to bring it up if you hadn't. I'm impressed, though. None of the others saw it." Phil shakes his head. "They've got to learn to pay attention to details."

"Eh, we'll get there," Bucky says. "They've got the two of us to whip 'em into shape now." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I caught any mistakes, but I wrote this on my iPad, and it's a pain in the ass. For instance, every single time I type "this" it changes it to "thus." I'm pretty sure I've never intentionally used the word thus.
> 
> Anyway. I've made Sam and his family into New Yorkers, because it was just easier. I really wanted him to have family around and be sort of a "normal" influence for the Avengers. Also, it's the return of protective Bucky!


	44. Chapter 44

Even with Stark's fancy jet, it's a long wait while the others make their way to Alaska. Bucky spends the first couple hours reading reports and studying surveillance photos. He spends the next few getting increasingly agitated.  He's used to waiting for action, but not like this. Not so far removed from any ability to help if things go sideways. Phil tries to keep him occupied, but he seems slightly rattled too. 

"I was still on bed rest for the last mission," Phil tells him. It's hour five, and they're both twitchy from stress and too much coffee. "They wouldn't even let me listen in, in case I got overexcited and strained my heart." He rolls his eyes. "Of course, the not knowing was even worse."

"We should be on that plane," Bucky growls. The pen clutched in his silver hand snaps in half, and they both jump. He flings the pieces across the table in irritation. "What if something goes wrong? They could lose comms. They could need backup."

Phil gives him a sympathetic look. "We knew the drawbacks to breaking away from SHIELD. Director Fury would almost certainly send help if we called, but then we'd owe him." He shrugs. "The man is my friend, but above all he's practical. None of us want to be indebted to him unless absolutely necessary."

"What about that big guy ... Thor?" Bucky asks. "Where the hell is he?"

Phil gestures vaguely toward the sky. "Home, for now. He assured us he'd return once things were settled with his brother, but we don't know how or when. If he shows up, it'll be a bonus, but we aren't counting on it."

"We need some more damn Avengers," Bucky says. "There are more superhumans out there, right?"

Phil makes an unimpressed noise. "Yes, but they're all either brooding misanthropes or solely concerned with the problems of their own little cliques. You'd be surprised how much superheroes have in common with high schoolers."

Bucky snorts with laughter. "Maybe we should - "

"Up and at 'em, boys," Tony says over the comm. "We're dropping off the ground team and coming in for a landing."

"Do try to remember," Phil says, "that we're doing this for intel as well as - "

"Blowing shit up?" Clint suggests.

Phil sighs. "Eloquent as always, Hawkeye."

The plan goes off without a hitch for the first ten minutes. The team infiltrates the factory and secures the exits, and what little opposition they meet is dealt with quietly. Bucky's just starting to relax when a deafening crash comes across the line, and the video feed cuts out, accompanied by shouts from Tony and Steve."What the - that asshole dented my helmet!" "Shut up and get down!" 

"Report!" Phil snaps.

"Uh," Tony says. "You know how I said these guys only make shitty weapons? I may have been slightly .... wrong." There's the whine of repulsor fire, followed by a pained yelp. "They have a robot."

"For fuck's sake," Bucky says. "Aren't you the robot whisperer or something? Shut it down!"

"Hey," Tony protests. "My robots don't shoot giant spikes at unsuspecting - oh fuck."

"Flamethrower!" Steve shouts. He doesn't sound alarmed so much as incredulous, and Bucky and Phil share a bewildered glance.

There's a scuffle and some disgruntled cursing, then Tony laughs a little hysterically. "Its arm is a flamethrower. Even I wouldn't - "

"Where is the Hulk?" Phil demands.

"Waiting on the jet," Bruce answers. "Since this was supposed to be about stealth."

"Yeah, I think the time for stealth has passed, buddy," Tony says. "Get your giant green ass in here before we get flambéed." 

There's a crash and an angry roar, and Phil sighs. "So much for getting the drop on them. Hawkeye? Widow?"

"I'm moving in," Clint answers. "We've been watching the exits, but I don't think there are that many people here. Pretty sure this robot thing is their security system. Nat's gonna stay behind just in case."

"You're doing no such thing," Phil says, half-rising from his seat. "Your uniform doesn't even have _sleeves_ ; it's not fireproof!"

"Phil." Clint's voice is placating. It's his _you know you really shouldn't be doing this; you aren't recovered_ tone, which Bucky's heard him use for everything from getting Phil to bed to making him lay off the bacon. "I have EMP arrows, and I can sneak up behind and fire from a distance."

Phil runs a hand over his face. There's sweat gathered at his hairline, and he looks unusually pale.

"Phil?" Clint says sharply. "You there?"

Bucky's starting to wonder if maybe Clint's right and Phil really isn't recovered enough for this. "Yeah, Clint. He's fine. Listen, Tony, it sounds like your repulsors aren't helping, so fall back. I don't know how EMPs will effect your suit, but no point risking it. Try to corral the Hulk until we see if this works." He takes a deep breath. "Steve?"

"Yeah, Bucky." Steve's voice is warm and sort of proud, and it makes Bucky's heart ache.

"How's that shield with fire?" And god but this is painful. For all the yelling he's done about Steve putting himself in danger ... "Do you think you can keep this thing distracted long enough for Clint to get off a shot?"

"On it," Steve responds. "And I'll be fine, Buck. Promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Bucky says. He mutes his mic and turns to Phil, gripping his shoulder and giving him a little shake. "Hey. Are you all right?"

Phil nods, visibly collecting himself. "I'm sorry. That was unprofessional."

"Come on, don't give me that," Bucky says. "I know you were the one who gathered all this" - he waves at the information on the walls - "and made this mission possible. You just had a little hiccup, but that's what I'm here for."

"Thank you." Phil's smile is embarrassed but genuine. He flips the mic back on. "Status report."

"JARVIS says Clint's right around the corner," Tony responds. "Steve and I have basically just been pissing the big guy off. I'm backing off now."

"I'm in range," Clint whispers. "Steve, I'm gonna aim for one of its ... eye things, so if you can get it to turn - "

"On it," Steve says cheerfully.

Bucky shakes his head. He's friends with a bunch of crazy people.

There's a shout, followed by a metallic clang and a _whoosh,_ which Bucky realizes with alarm must be the flamethrower, then a triumphant whoop.

"Got him!" Clint calls gleefully. "It's sort of twitching and sparking, but I don't think it's dead. Hulk time?"

"Hulk time," Tony agrees. This is followed by a lot of crashes and undignified giggling, and Tony explains, "Hulk's tearing the thing limb from limb. It's sorta like watching someone dismember a big metal Barbie."

"I'm surprised you even know what Barbies are," Clint says. "I can picture baby Tony building rocket-powered Hot Wheels."

"If adult Tony doesn't find a terminal and get me some intel, he's going to have a rocket-powered boot up his ass,"  Phil says pleasantly.

"First of all," Tony says, "rude. Also, my boots are not rocket-powered, they're - "

"We're on it, Phil," Steve interrupts. "I think there's a control room nearby. We'll let you know if we find anything." 

Bucky's only half listening as the mission winds down. By the time Tony downloads everything from the computers, Bruce de-Hulks, Natasha plants some explosives, and everyone is back on board the plane, he's pinching himself to keep from dozing on the table.

"Good work," Phil says. "I'm almost sorry that you want to join the team, because you'd make an excellent handler."

"Mm hm," Bucky says drowsily. "I'd go batshit. Plus ... " He yawns. "Wanna be there to watch their backs."

"I know." Phil stands and starts shutting down all the projections. "If I could still be in the field ... Well, I'd probably never get anything done, with Clint mother-henning me."

Bucky snorts. "Like you aren't just as bad." Phil's quiet, and Bucky peels his eyes open and squints at him in concern. "Hey, sit back down. You sure you're doing okay?"

Phil sits across from him and drops his head into his hands. "I always cared for Clint, of course, but I never let myself think about anything more. Mixing work and personal relationships is frowned upon for a reason, particularly in our field. Now I can see why. Not that I'd ever give him up, but it does make things more difficult."

"I don't know," Bucky muses. "I'm not sure either of you could be with someone who didn't live this life. They'd never be able to understand. And like, earlier with Steve, it sucked to send him into danger, but at least I knew there was a plan and it wasn't just him rushing in, doing something idiotic."

Phil laughs. "That does help. I'm sure we'll all get used to it. By the way ... " He pauses, and Bucky looks up to see him grinning. "You passed."

"I ... what?" Bucky glares halfheartedly. "This was a test?"

"Well," Phil says, "we weren't going to kick you out if things went badly, but yes. Contingent on you continuing your training and the weekly meetings at the VA" - Bucky groans - "you'll be allowed out on the next mission. Congratulations on officially becoming an Avenger."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The robot is loosely based on [this guy.](http://marvel.wikia.com/Dreadnought_%28Earth-616%29) I'll explain more next chapter.
> 
> I went to see Mission Impossible for my birthday yesterday (because I'm about as fond of social interaction as Bucky, and dinner and a movie is as exciting as I get) and any fellow Renner fans should definitely check it out. It was pretty awesome. There's also a badass female character who I think really needs to meet Natasha.


	45. Chapter 45

Something's tickling the back of Bucky's neck. He makes an unhappy noise and shakes his head in irritation. He's still mostly asleep, and if whatever it is will just _go away_ ... The tickling comes again, and he swats at it, grumbling.

Someone chuckles. Bucky lifts his head and cracks an eye open, just in time to be blinded by a flash of light. "Urgh," he complains.

"I know," a voice says soothingly. "But you need to go to bed."

"Am in bed," Bucky argues.

"Uh, nope," another voice says, prodding at his arm. "You're drooling on my very expensive table."

Bucky risks opening his eyes again and discovers Tony standing next to him, stripped down to the bodysuit he wears under the armor. Bucky's head is pillowed on his arms, and yep, that is a bit of drool on the table. Across from him, Phil is in a similar state, Clint tugging him gently from his chair.

The tickling has turned into a soothing petting, threatening to put him back to sleep. He twists his neck to see Steve, still in full uniform and running his fingers through Bucky's hair. 

Tony is tapping at his phone and laughing evilly. "You two are so cute when you sleep," he coos. "I think this needs to go on Twitter." He ambles from the room without looking up from his phone. "No sex on my table!" he calls over his shoulder.

Bucky doesn't need to look to know that Steve's blushing violently. "Time 's it?" he mumbles.

"About 3:00 a.m.," Steve says quietly. "We just got back. Clint was worried when Phil wasn't in their room."

"Everybody okay?" Bucky straightens, wincing when his neck cracks. He's too old for this shit.

"Fine." Steve starts massaging Bucky's neck, and he has to choke back a moan. "Bruce and Natasha went straight to bed. Which is where you should be."

"We were waiting for you. Didn't mean to fall asleep." Regretfully, Bucky shakes off Steve's hand and stands. "I should've made Phil go. If I'm sore, he's got to be in bad shape."

"He's just as stubborn as you," Steve says fondly. "Walk you to your door?"

He holds out a hand, and Bucky wants to call him a dork but it's just so damn sweet. "Sure." Bucky laces their fingers together and lets Steve lead him from the room. "You guys did good. Considering."

Steve laughs. "Considering. It was all thanks to you. You were great."

"Nah, it was all Phil," Bucky says. "Maybe like, 10% me."

"I think you're being too modest," Steve argues as they stop in front of Bucky's door. "But I'll let it go for now. You need some real sleep. Let me know when you wake up?" He ducks his head, suddenly shy. "Unless ... I don't want to be pushy, if you - "

"I'll definitely let you know when I wake up," Bucky says, squeezing Steve's hand.

Steve grins and leans in for a quick hug. "Good night."

His uniform smells of sweat and smoke and there are buckles digging uncomfortably, but Bucky could not care less. "Night, Steve."

*****

Bucky wakes with the sun, having spent the last few hours dozing fitfully. His traitorous brain had kicked on as soon as he'd climbed into bed, vivid images of how the mission could've gone wrong melting into unsettled dreams.

He kicks his blankets off and stretches painfully. He's not training with Natasha again until tomorrow, and he has no idea what to do with the day. "Anyone awake, J?"

"Captain Rogers has been in the gym for some time," JARVIS replies. "Dr. Banner is on the roof. Everyone else appears to be sleeping."

"The roof?" Bucky drags himself to the closet and randomly grabs jeans and a t-shirt. 

"Dr. Banner has been building a rooftop garden," JARVIS explains. "I believe he finds it relaxing."

"Huh." Gardening in Manhattan. Who'd have thought? "Think he'd mind company?"

There's a pause. "Dr. Banner says you are welcome any time."

"Nice. I might check it out later." He could go now and let Steve finish his workout, but ... sweaty Steve. He deserves a reward for last night's mission, right? Bucky cleans his face and teeth and attempts to tame his hair. He's not vain, but Captain America in tiny shorts would make anyone feel inferior. "Tell Steve I'm on my way, would you?"

Sadly, Steve is not wearing the tiny black shorts when Bucky arrives, though the pants he's traded them for are nearly tight enough to make up for it. He's sprinting at a speed Bucky has only attained while running for his life, but when he climbs off the treadmill he's barely out of breath.

"Hey, Bucky!" Steve says happily. "JARVIS said you were on your way down." He moves to Bucky's side then hesitates, like he can't decide if he's allowed to touch.

Bucky closes the distance, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist and burrowing in. Whatever, he's gotten addicted to hugs. "I thought you like to run outside?" 

Steve rests his chin on Bucky's head and hugs back. Bucky might never move again. "I do, but it's late enough that the streets are crowded. I can't run as fast as I'd like without calling attention to myself."

"Poor baby," Bucky mumbles into Steve's chest.

Steve huffs a laugh. "Yeah, you sound real sympathetic." They stand quietly for a minute, just holding each other and probably looking like a couple of saps, before Steve steps back with a resigned sigh. "So, I have to go with Phil to talk to Director Fury, but I'll be back this evening. Have you thought about our date?"

Bucky had, actually, during the hours he'd spent waiting the previous night, and he thinks he's got the perfect thing. "Yep. Let me know when you're on your way back, and we can do it tonight."

Steve grins. "I can't wait."

Bucky watches him go, feeling sort of adrift. It's amazing how quickly he's gone from spending all his time alone to craving human contact, the thought of hiding in his apartment suddenly unappealing. "Hey, JARVIS, you wanna point me toward Bruce?"

It turns out that the tower has three distinct rooftops, all accessible only by private elevator. One is a landing platform for Iron Man and the Avengers' jet, and another serves as a sort of outdoor lounge area. The third, while the smallest of the lot, is still larger than the entirety of Bucky's old apartment. This is where he finds Bruce, crouched in front of a deep ceramic container and up to his elbows in potting soil.

"Holy shit." Bucky takes one step onto the roof and freezes, because it's like he's just passed through the pages of a fantasy novel. Everything is lush and green, broken only by a narrow, winding path of concrete. There are herbs he recognizes by smell if not by sight, one cluster reminding him of his gran's lasagna and another he thinks might have been in Steve's soup. There are vibrant red tomatoes in a wire cage and some sort of vine climbing a wooden trellis. Among the rows of planters on the ground, he can identify carrots and eggplant and various leafy greens. "This is amazing."

Bruce glances up with a cautious smile. "Thanks. JARVIS said you were interested ... ?"

Bucky wanders over to peer into the container. It's filled nearly to the top with dirt and what smells like some pretty fresh fertilizer. "Yeah, I mean, I didn't even know this was possible. Is all this stuff edible?"

"Mostly. There are a few flowers and shrubs down at the other end. I know, I could buy pretty much anything, but ... " He shrugs. "I like knowing where my food comes from, and it's good for the environment. Plus there's something therapeutic about it."

"Makes sense," Bucky says, absently poking at the soil. "I can see how it'd be nice to grow something when you're used to destroying stuff." He winces, realizing too late how that sounded. "I didn't mean - just that we're all used to fighting."

"No, you're right. Creating life, instead of taking. Clichéd, maybe, but it helps." Bruce reaches for a rectangular tray filled with tiny plants. "Radish seedlings. I started them indoors, but now they need to be transplanted. Here, you want to do it?"

He separates one and passes it to Bucky, who nearly panics and drops it. "What - no!" The roots are tangled in a ball of dirt, and he lifts it by the leaves, peering at it dubiously.

"Make a hole in the soil," Bruce tells him. "Deep enough for the roots."

"I can't - I'm gonna kill it!" Bucky protests. He's never tried to grow anything in his life, and the last thing he needs is to screw up Bruce's happy place.

Bruce chuckles. "No you won't. Just be gentle. Make sure all the roots are in the hole and pack the soil around it."

Bucky follows his directions, treating the plant like a live grenade and heaving a relieved sigh when it's safely in the soil. Bruce grins and claps him on the shoulder, suddenly looking ten years younger. Bucky wonders how long it's been since Bruce has had someone he could just share a quiet moment with, and he feels guilty for the way he's sort of been avoiding the man. "All right, I've got this. Let me try the next one."

Over the course of the next two hours, Bucky plants the rest of the radishes and some cucumbers, tastes the best strawberry he's ever had in his life, and discovers that there are more types of lettuce than he ever thought existed. He also learns that Bruce, who started the morning shy and uncertain, has a dry, biting sense of humor and a seemingly endless supply of stories about his travels. Bucky ends up with sore knees, a cramped hand, and dirt under his fingernails, but he's basking in the feeling of hard work well done. Even better, he's pretty sure he's made another friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in the mood for some plotless team bonding, and Bruce has barely had any screen time. Next chapter is another date, and after that we'll see Sam again.
> 
> I only have theoretical knowledge of gardening. I always say I have a black thumb, because even when I've tried growing veggies in an actual yard they've always died. My record is some ivy I've kept alive for about three years now.
> 
> Also, I'm just making stuff up about the tower, but I've pretty much been doing that anyway.


	46. Chapter 46

Bruce invites Bucky to join him for lunch, and, to Bucky's relief, they end up raiding the main kitchen. He's pretty sure someone told him that Bruce is vegetarian, and Bucky was envisioning choking down tofu and wheat germ. On the other hand, at least Bruce knows how to cook. He's doing a lot of chopping and sautéing, filling the kitchen with the smell of garlic. Bucky pokes sadly at his grilled cheese. "I've got to learn how to cook."

Bruce chuckles. "I hear that Steve is becoming quite the fan of the Food Network. Maybe the two of you can learn together."

Bucky looks up in surprise. It hadn't occurred to him that Bruce would know about him and Steve (although he really should've expected it, with this bunch of gossips). It's just that Bruce is so rarely around, and when he is he tends to blend into the background. "Actually, we're kind of going to." He digs out his phone, pulling up a website before offering it to Bruce. "I was trying to come up with a date that wasn't just dinner and a movie but wouldn't be too crowded, and I found this."

Bruce plucks a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his shirt pocket and slides them on before taking the phone. Bucky has to hide a grin, because the way Bruce squints through the glasses makes him look even more like an absentminded professor than usual.  "Couples cooking lessons?" Bruce scrolls through the page, smiling. "Steve will love this." Something on the stove makes a spitting noise, and he shoves the phone back at Bucky and dashes away.

"I hope so," Bucky says. "Tony helped get us in - I only thought of it last night and I guess usually you have to sign up way ahead of time. I texted him and ten minutes later he had it all taken care of. I don't think I want to know how he did it."

"I've discovered it's best not to ask," Bruce agrees. "I nearly fainted when I found out how much Tony paid to Hulk-proof my rooms, but I think that spending money is the only way he knows how to show he cares."

Bruce dumps his food onto a plate and sits across from Bucky, who peers at it curiously. He thinks it's some kind of stir fry. He'd better not be expected to make anything with that many ingredients. "Speaking of money," Bucky says, "is there a paycheck for this Avengers gig? Cause honestly, if Tony hadn't insisted on paying for this thing tonight it might have bankrupted me, no matter how much I wanted to argue."

Bruce laughs. "When I first came here, I only had the loose change in my pocket, and Tony bought me a brand new wardrobe and a cell phone and computer." He shakes his head. "He really does have more money than he could ever spend, and it makes him happy to help the team. But to answer your question, I just sort of find money in my bank account occasionally. I think technically SI took on a lot of projects for SHIELD, so even though they don't control the Avengers, that money goes toward paying the team. It's less uncomfortable for all of us than thinking about Tony paying us."

"Yeah," Bucky says, "I don't really want to think about Tony Stark being my sugar daddy." 

Bruce chokes on his stir fry, and Bucky has a panicked moment of wondering whether he should whack him on the back or run away in case of imminent Hulk-out. He settles for patting gingerly, and Bruce starts to laugh. "Oh, I wish you'd said that while Phil was here. Just the thought of his face ... "

"Even better would be him having to explain it to Steve," Bucky says.

"I'm sure there were sugar daddies in the 30s," Natasha says in Bucky's ear. He nearly falls out of his seat, and Bruce snickers at him. "Need to be more aware of your surroundings, Barnes," she adds, stealing the last bite of sandwich off his plate.

Bucky considers it a sign of personal growth that he's able to flip her off without peeing his pants. "In the kitchen? The only one who's going to sneak in here and try to kill me is you."

"Hmm," Natasha says noncommittally. "So, cooking lessons? That's cute. Steve will like it." She moves around the counter to peer into his face. "You need a haircut. And a good shave wouldn't kill you."

Bucky doesn't bother asking how she knows his plans, but he jerks away in alarm when she reaches for his hair. "No way; I'm growing it out. I've had the same haircut for ten years, and I'm trying something different."

Natasha nods. "Change is good, but you look like a sheepdog."

Bucky sputters indignantly, and Bruce starts laughing again. Natasha turns her focus on Bruce. "You could always go with him. I know for a fact you haven't had a haircut since you left India."

"Uh." Bruce's gaze darts to the doorway. Natasha shifts subtly to block it. "Thanks, but I have something ... important to do. In the lab."

"You are a terrible liar. I'm embarrassed for you." Natasha prods Bucky's shoulder. "We have an appointment in a half hour; don't keep me waiting."

"You're coming?" Bucky stands and carries his dishes to the sink. Apparently he's still conditioned to follow orders.

Natasha gives him a narrow-eyed glare. "What, because I know a dozen ways to kill you with my bare hands, I can't want my hair to look good?"

"What? No!" Bucky presses his back to the sink, shooting Bruce a pleading look. Bruce, the traitor, pretends to be engrossed in his food. "I just meant, because it looks so good already ... "

Natasha snorts. "Nice save. Twenty-eight minutes."

****

A half hour later, Bucky is sitting in some kind of salon/spa/torture chamber, having his eyebrows tweezed by a model-thin man with purple hair. "Is this really necessary?"

Natasha, who is sprawled next to him with green goop slathered on her face, makes an irritated noise. " _Yes_. We've already had this conversation."

"Am I being punished?" Bucky winces as Purple Hair yanks out another bit of eyebrow. Why would anyone do this voluntarily?

"If you were being punished, Alonso would be waxing your chest right now," Natasha says mildly.

Bucky lets out a horrified squeak, and the stylist - Alonso, apparently - chuckles. "All finished," Alonso assures him. "Now we do the mask." He reaches for the bowl of goop and begins slathering it on Bucky's forehead. It smells sort of like low tide, and Bucky wrinkles his nose. "Seaweed," Alonso explains. "Detoxifies the skin. I'll be back in a bit, and then we will see about this hair." He tugs on a lock of Bucky's hair and saunters away with a wink.

Bucky turns to look at Natasha. Her eyes are closed, but he has no doubt that she can feel the heat of his glare. His feet are bubbling away in some kind of warm, mint-smelling soak, which is actually pretty awesome - not that he's going to tell her that - but his eyebrows are on fire, and he's trying to take shallow breaths through his mouth to avoid the seaweed smell. 

"Sometimes," Natasha murmurs, "it helps to reinvent yourself. Even if it's nothing more than a haircut, you can look at yourself in the mirror and say, 'I am not the same person I was yesterday.' Or three months ago, as the case may be."

"Yeah?" Bucky asks. "You think I'm not the same person?"

"You tell me," Natasha says. "If you'd never been injured, would you ever have accepted your feelings for another man? Gone on a date, in public?"

"That's not fair," Bucky protests. "Up until a few months ago, I would've gotten kicked out of the Army if anyone found out."

"So you were prepared to spend your life alone? Or some day marry a woman who could never really satisfy you?" Natasha's voice is almost pitying, and Bucky bristles.

"I was prepared to do what I had to, to keep my job. I'd intended to spend my life in the military, and I knew what I'd have to sacrifice. You can't tell me you've never had to sacrifice anything, working for - " Bucky suddenly realizes he's nearly shouting, and he bites off the word. Luckily, they're in some kind of private room, and none of the employees seem to be around.

"Of course I have," Natasha says calmly. "More than you'll ever know. But now I am in a place where I no longer have to, where I'm allowed to want things for myself. I had to learn that duty and happiness aren't antithetical."

Bucky sighs. "Wasn't this supposed to be relaxing?"

"You're the one who insists on arguing," Natasha points out. "I'm just trying to tell you that you've come a long way - the fact that you're willing to argue with me is proof of that - but you need to let go of Sergeant Barnes and learn how to be Bucky."

"And I'm going to do this by detoxifying my pores and getting a trendy haircut?" Bucky knows he's pushing his luck, but seriously ... how is he supposed to let go of the person he's been for the last decade?

Natasha makes an exasperated noise. "You're going to do it when you stop being a pain in my ass and start listening to what I'm saying. The haircut is symbolic. Not that you don't need it," she adds when Bucky opens his mouth, "because I wasn't kidding about the sheepdog."

Despite himself, Bucky laughs. He's uncomfortable and irritated, but he can't deny that Natasha might have a point. Also, it's sort of nice having people who care enough to nag him. "All right. But if I end up looking like I belong in a boy band, I will find a way to kill you."

Natasha snorts. "Good luck."

Alonso comes bustling back into the room then, carrying a pile of towels and three different kinds of scissors, and looking way too gleeful for Bucky's tastes. "So, shall we begin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this chapter was the date, but this just sort of happened. At least I gave you an idea of what it's going to be? I decided I might as well give in to my penchant for writing about food and make it part of the plot. :) Date really will be next chapter, I promise.
> 
> I needed more bonding with Natasha. Also, believe it or not, I was inspired by an old episode of NCIS I watched the other day. There was this gay kid whose life's dream was to join the Navy, even though (at the time) it meant he'd have to hide who he was. They didn't really get into why he thought it was worth it, but it made me think ... It doesn't sound like much of a life to me. With Bucky, it was maybe a little easier in the beginning because he wasn't exactly admitting it to himself when he was younger anyway, but you have to wonder if he'd have ever ended up being really happy.
> 
> If anyone's curious, I couldn't find a picture of Seb with hair like I'm imagining, but the finished product is sort of that RDJ-style, perfectly tamed bedhead.


	47. Chapter 47

Bucky will never admit it to Natasha, but once he's fully styled and dressed for his date, he looks pretty good. His hair, despite the half hour it took him to wrangle it into submission, looks like he just rolled out of bed after a round of energetic sex. His skin is smooth and glowing, and it's like five years have been sloughed off his face. He can't remember the last time he was pleased with his appearance, even before losing the arm. On long ops, showers were nothing but a distant memory, and it wasn't unusual for his face to be covered with a week of beard and sand. Now, apart from the silver hand peeking out from beneath his sleeve, he can hardly believe he's the same person.

Steve seems to appreciate the makeover as well, judging by the look on his face when he meets Bucky in the lobby. Bucky might have wasted half the afternoon arguing with Natasha about skinny jeans making him look like a douche, but he's exceedingly glad that she won when Steve does a double take and flushes bright red. It's only fair, Bucky thinks, if Steve is going to run around in those indecently tight short sleeves.

"So," Steve says as they step out of the tower, "are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"Nope." Bucky grins. That's definitely a pout on Captain America's face. "You'll see when we get there."

Steve sighs dramatically. "Fine, but I remember your sense of direction. I can't save you if you get lost."

"Whatever." Bucky scoffs. "Like you won't just whip out your phone. You kids and your apps."

Steve laughs. "I can't remember the last time someone called me a kid. Usually it's 'old man' and 'grandpa.'"

"You don't look like a grandpa to me." Bucky tries to leer, but he's pretty sure he just ends up looking ridiculous.

Of course, Steve blushes anyway. "Thanks. Um, you look really good, too. I like the hair." He reaches up to touch it, his fingers trailing absently across Bucky's neck. Bucky shivers, which Steve must mistake for him being cold, because he wraps an arm around Bucky's waist, drawing him closer.

Bucky is not going to complain.

They stay pressed together for the 20 minutes it takes to walk to their destination. Bucky's never been so thankful to live in this city, because even though he's half-expecting paparazzi to leap out of the bushes, no one gives them a second glance. Steve has a Mets cap shading his face, and combined with the general unwillingness of New Yorkers to look each other in the eyes, no one seems to recognize him.

The class is being held in some upscale restaurant Bucky's never heard of, and Steve looks a little nervous when he notices the fancy decor. Bucky nudges him and smiles reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'm not going to make you eat truffles and caviar."

They step into the empty dining room, and Steve peers around in confusion. "Are they closed?"

"Yep." Bucky drags him across the room and toward a swinging kitchen door. The Avengers' delinquency must be rubbing off on him, because it's kind of thrilling to step into somewhere that's normally off-limits. "Luckily, we're not dining tonight; we're cooking."

"What ... ?" Steve trails him through the door, his face scrunched up in confusion until he catches on. "Is it a cooking class? Bucky, this is so neat!"

Bucky can't begin to name all the appliances in the kitchen, but everything is spotless, gleaming stainless steel. There's a long prep table in the middle of the room, divided into four stations. Steve grabs his hand and drags him to the table, still babbling excitedly. There's another couple already across from them, a middle-aged man and a woman with lacquered-on makeup and teased blonde hair. (Bucky desperately wants to make a crack about the 80s, and it's so sad that Steve wouldn't get it. He's got to catch the man up on pop culture.) Two twenty-somethings take the adjoining spot. They're both dressed like they bought out the hipster booth at the flea market, and Bucky can't help but roll his eyes. The last pair to file in are a man and woman about Bucky's age, and they can't seem to keep their hands off each other, though they look like polar opposites. She's lithe and graceful like a ballerina, her skin the color of espresso. The man is taller than Steve, rail-thin and awkward, with freckled pale skin and red hair.

There's a man in a chef's coat at the head of the table, and he claps loudly when everyone has settled in. "Hello, everyone, and welcome to Couples Cooking. I'm Jamie, the Executive Chef here. Looks like we've got all new faces this evening, so I hope you enjoy yourselves and come back to see us again. I'm pretty sure everyone's going to be happy with tonight's theme - pizza!"

There's a round of cheers, and Steve's smiling so brightly that Bucky forgets how to breathe. It doesn't matter how much he owes Tony for this; it's worth it.

Jamie spends a few minutes explaining the tools and ingredients in front of them, then upends a bowl onto the table. "First, we make a pile of flour, leaving a well in the middle for the liquid."

"At least it's not powdered sugar," Steve mutters. Bucky elbows him in the side, accidentally flinging some of the flour onto Steve's blue shirt. The poofy-haired blonde lady gives him an unimpressed glare.

"Take your small bowl and mix the yeast, salt, and sugar into the water," Jamie says, "then add about a third into your well."

"I'm having flashbacks of grade school volcanoes," Bucky says quietly. "Did they have those in your day?"

"I was kinda thinking about sandcastles, myself," Steve answers, carefully tipping in some of the water. "Does that look like a third?"

Bucky shrugs. "Close enough. Sandcastles, huh? Let me guess, you used to pretend to be a knight. Richard the Lionheart? King Arthur?"

"Um." Steve bites his lip, avoiding Bucky's eyes. "Actually, I liked to be the dragon. I'd run around pretending to breathe fire and then knock over the castle."

Bucky laughs loudly, ducking his head when everyone turns to look at them. "Your mom must've had her hands full."

Steve's flushed with embarrassment, but he peeks up at Bucky and grins. "Yeah, that's an understatement. It's a good thing she was a nurse; I was always getting myself in trouble."

"Now take your fork and bring some flour into the middle," Jamie says. He's demonstrating, but Bucky is too busy laughing at the hipster kids, who have managed to knock over their entire mound of flour. Steve tries to give him a disapproving look, but Bucky can see his lips curving. "Continue until it's all mixed in," Jamie continues, "then it's time to knead. About ten minutes will give you a stronger, stretchier crust."

"Yeah, this one's all you, supersoldier," Bucky whispers into Steve's ear. "I don't wanna think about getting that guck off of my hand, anyway."

Steve rolls his eyes but gets to it. Across from them, Poofy Blonde is looking at the wet dough like it's a snake, and her husband shares a long-suffering glance with Steve before sinking his fingers in. Probably Bucky should be insulted, but squeezing that dough is doing delightful things to Steve's biceps.

Ten minutes later, the dough goes into a covered bowl and they move on to sauce. Bucky has never seen pizza sauce that didn't come out of a jar, so he's understandably confused when a vicious debate breaks out over tomatoes. "I hope you know I'm getting behind you if sauce starts flying," he mutters to Steve.

Steve snorts. "I thought you could take care of yourself?"

"Well, yeah," Bucky agrees, "but - "

"Of course you can use any tomato you want," Jamie says with the air of someone repeating himself for the thousandth time. "I'm just saying that whole San Marzanos - "

Poofy Blonde sniffs loudly. "Well, my grandmother, God bless her soul, always used the puree. Anything else is too bitter."

"Oh sure," one of the hipsters says, scoffing. "If you want your sauce to have the consistency of paste."

Steve turns to Bucky, grinning. Most people, Bucky thinks, would probably expect Captain America to break up the argument, or make some sort of 'back in my day' comment about fresh produce. He feels strangely honored to know that Steve is actually an evil little shit, so that he's not at all surprised at what actually comes out of the man's mouth.

"You know," Steve calls over the blonde's retort, "if this was _real_ New York pizza, there wouldn't be any garlic on this table."

There are a couple of outraged gasps, but Bucky's too busy stifling his laughter in Steve's shoulder to see who they come from.

"All right!" Jamie shouts over the fracas. "There is a fully-stocked kitchen at your disposal. Please, just grab whatever ingredients you want so we can move on." He looks frazzled, and Bucky feels a little bad for him. On the other hand, Steve is giggling like a little kid, and Bucky would do absolutely anything to keep that smile on his face.

A half hour (and one near-miss with a food processor) later, everyone's sauce is finished, and they return to the dough. "Now we want to make a flat circle," Jamie explains. "The easiest way is to use your fingers to push the edges out, but if you're feeling brave, give it a toss into the air. The weight of the dough as it lands will stretch it even thinner." He spins the dough into the air one-handed, catching it neatly to a smattering of applause.

"Showoff," Bucky mutters. He catches the eye of the redheaded guy next to him, who gives him an eye roll and a nod, like _I know, right?_ before smashing his dough into something that looks vaguely egg-shaped. On his other side, Steve is suspiciously quiet, and Bucky turns to see him eyeing the ball of dough contemplatively. "Steve, no."

"What?" Steve says defensively. "It can't be any harder than throwing the shield."

"Yes, except we want to eat this, not kill someone with it," Bucky hisses. He snatches away the dough, flattening it into a circle.

Steve crosses his arms and harrumphs. "Fine. I'll go get the toppings out of the fridge. I know you hate onion; how about olives?"

Bucky stares at him in horror. "No! Pepperoni and cheese. Nothing else is touching my pizza."

"We really should have some kind of vegetable," Steve says, frowning. "Mushrooms? Broccoli?"

"Pepp-er-oni," Bucky says slowly. "Cheese."

Steve throws his hands up in exasperation. "Fine. Don't complain to me when you end up with scurvy."

He stalks off, and the redheaded guy next to Bucky snickers. "Man, you're lucky. I never win that argument. Julia is a dancer" - he points to his girlfriend, who's piling cauliflower and carrot strips on their dough - "and this is the first time I've so much as been in the same room as processed meat in months. I'm Chris, by the way."

Bucky laughs. "Bucky. I'd shake, but ... " He holds up his right hand, which is covered in clumps of dough. "And there's a time and place for veggies, but not on my pizza."

"I hear ya." Chris sighs. "The things we do for love."

Steve chooses that moment to reappear, dropping a stick of pepperoni and a hunk of fresh mozzarella onto the table. "Here we go. Not a veggie in sight." He looks longingly at Julia, who's moved on to chopping something that looks like zucchini. "You're lucky I like you so much, or I might eat dinner with these guys instead."

Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but Steve silences him with a quick kiss before plucking up a knife and moving away. Bucky stares after him, frozen with shock.

Chris nudges him, grinning. "See?"

When the pizzas are finally baked, they carry their creations into the dining room, where someone has set two tables with flickering candles and bottles of wine. Bucky rushes to the table where Chris and Julia are already settled, because he'll be damned if he's sitting with the hipsters or the scary blonde. Steve does end up having a slice of their veggie pizza after Julia offers, and Bucky sneaks Chris a slice of pepperoni when the others aren't looking. It's ... comfortable, in a way Bucky isn't used to, and he wonders if it's something to do with these particular people or just that he's finally learning how to be human again. Conversation is casual and easy, and it's like no time at all has passed when there's nothing left but crumbs.

"Um." Chris stands and taps his fork against a wineglass with a shaking hand. "Before we go, I just want to - " His voice cracks, and he laughs nervously. "Sorry, I'm a little ... " He glances at Bucky, who tries to smile encouragingly even though he has no idea what's going on. Chris blows out a long breath. "Okay, so this is our one year anniversary. I met Julia at this restaurant on a blind date. I was so intimidated at first, because, well, look at her." There are a few chuckles, and Chris grins, seeming to find his confidence. "But as soon as we started talking, it was like we'd known each other forever. She's smart and funny, and the kindest person I've ever met, and somehow she still hasn't figured out that she's way too good for me. I love you, Jules, even if you do have terrible taste in pizza toppings."

Julia lets out a laugh that's at least half sob, and Bucky reaches for Steve's hand, clutching it tightly. Because he's finally figured out what's happening, and as ridiculous as it is, he feels almost as nervous as Chris looks. It's just so obvious that these two are right for each other, and he wants - needs - to know that there are still things in this world with a happy ending.

Chris crouches down, pulling a small box from his pocket. "You make me want to be a better person, and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you, if you'll let me. Will you marry me?"

There's a long moment of silence - Bucky isn't sure if anyone in the room is even breathing - and then Julia launches herself out of her chair and at Chris, tackling him to the ground. "Yes!" she says, laughing. "Yes, oh my god, yes."

They stay tangled together on the floor, kissing and crying and babbling quietly, and it goes on for so long that Bucky starts to worry things are going to turn X-rated. He clears his throat. "Give the girl her ring, already," he says, poking Chris with his toes.

"Oh!" Chris stands, pulling Julia to her feet and opening the box. "Got a little carried away." He slides the ring onto her finger, beaming. "Sorry for hijacking the evening, guys," he says sheepishly, glancing at where Jamie's standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Are you kidding me?" Jamie asks, crossing the room to shake the couple's hands. "This is going on the website."

The group starts to disperse then, and Bucky turns to Steve, who's watching Chris and Julia chat with the chef. There's a small smile on his face, and his eyes are suspiciously shiny.

Bucky waits until they've gathered their things and headed outside to speak. "You all right there?"

"Yeah, of course," Steve answers. "That was just ... really something. I mean, I had a lot of fun anyway, but that ending. I'm pretty sure you just blew all my date ideas out of the water."

Bucky laughs. "Well, I can't take credit for the proposal, but it was memorable, all right. And it's nice to know that your questionable taste in food doesn't have to be a deal-breaker."

" _My_ questionable taste?" Steve says indignantly.

"Um ... Bucky?" a hesitant voice interrupts.

Bucky turns to see Chris behind him, an arm wrapped around his new fiance. "Hey, guys. Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Chris says, smiling a bit dopily. "So look, I know that this is strange and we don't even really know each other, but I was kind of hoping you guys might want to come to the wedding? I mean, if I hadn't had you to chat with, I probably would've had a heart attack from the nerves before I even managed to propose. And I just think it'd be kind of cool, you know, since you were here for this. But I'd understand if it's - "

"We'd love to," Steve says. "If we're free, of course. Do you have any idea when ... ?"

"Not really," Julia admits. "Soon. We obviously haven't had much time to talk about it yet, but I don't think either of us wants some big production."

"Definitely not," Chris agrees. "I'll let you know. Do you have a card or something?"

"Uh, no." Bucky digs out his phone and hands it over. "Here, just send yourself a text, and that way we'll have each other's numbers."

"Great idea!" Chris types something quickly before passing the phone back. "We're going to get out of here now - if my mom finds out I waited more than an hour to tell her I'm engaged, she'll kill me, and then there won't _be_ a wedding."

Bucky laughs, waving as the couple darts off to flag down a cab. "You sure you want to go to a wedding?" he asks Steve. "You do remember how Tony reacted the last time you met a new person?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "I seriously doubt those two are supervillains. I don't think they had a clue who I am. And we don't have to tell Tony everything."

Bucky snorts. "Like he isn't going to find out. I bet Natasha knew the second you started thinking about saying yes. I'm pretty sure she's psychic."

"Oh yeah?" Steve says. "I bet she doesn't know I'm about to do this." He takes Bucky's hand and yanks him off the sidewalk into a darkened doorway. Bucky has a half second to register the cool glass against his back before Steve threads a hand into his hair and kisses him roughly.

All of their previous kisses have been short and chaste, but this one is all heat and tongue and carefully restrained strength. Bucky's brain shorts out, and he goes boneless, clinging to Steve's hips just to stay upright. It's fucking glorious. Steve pulls away just when Bucky's about to run out of oxygen, grinning smugly at the way he gasps for breath.

"What?" Bucky says weakly.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while. Didn't want to move too fast, but ... " Steve leans in for another quick kiss. "I couldn't help myself."

"But ... " Bucky shakes his head in disbelief. "You blush when I catch you looking at my ass!"

Steve laughs, and yep, there's the blush. "Well, I can't have you thinking I'm predictable."

"Believe me," Bucky says, gasping as Steve punctuates his statement with a nip to Bucky's ear, "that is absolutely the last thing I'd call you." They really need to move  before Captain America ends up arrested for public indecency, but Steve pulls him up against that sculpted chest, and fuck it ... he'll take his chances.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter gave me fits. I had the worst time trying to make it cute and not just a cooking lesson, and if I hadn't already been dumb enough to mention it in the last chapter I might've scrapped the idea altogether. I'm also way behind on pretty much everything in my life because I just started a new job, so apologies to anyone who left messages here or on tumblr and didn't get a response. 
> 
> I feel like I'm going to have to write a cookbook to go with this fic. Just FYI, I named the instructor after Jamie Oliver, because it's his pizza recipe I had them following. There are some recipes that tell you to let the dough sit for hours, but we don't have time for that crap. Also, I am very firmly of the opinion that nothing belongs on pizza but sauce, cheese and pepperoni. Unless it's a white pizza, in which case I will allow tomato and basil.


	48. Chapter 48

Bucky is starting to hate Mondays. He's pretty sure that's actually a normal thing to do, but it's not like he's ever had a 9-to-5 job, and anyway his reasons have less to do with the end of the weekend than his friggin' enforced therapy sessions and the fact that it seems to be a favored day for supervillains. Last week, Steve and the others had been called out to fight some mad scientist in New Zealand (and really, are there no international superheroes? What's going to happen when someone actually manages to destroy the world in the 20 hours it takes for the Avengers to arrive?) Of course, come 6:00 p.m., Tony's driver was still magically waiting to take him to the VA, and while he'll admit it wasn't completely horrible and it was sort of nice to see Jack again, he resents the feeling of being carted off to daycare while the adults fight crime.

Now, it's creeping up on Monday evening again, and he's stuck in the tower with Coulson, _again_ , and the Avengers have been gone since the crack of dawn. In the two weeks since their pizza date, he's seen Steve for a combined total of 20 hours or so, even though they live in the same goddamn building, three of which were wasted arguing over Bucky's continued relegation to the sidelines. He doesn't know why he ever thought it was nice to have people be concerned about him.

"I understand that it's frustrating," Phil says quietly.

Bucky snaps his head up to glare at the older man. It's on the tip of his tongue to say that no, Phil doesn't understand, because Phil knows he's out for good while Bucky is stuck sitting around waiting on fuck knows what, but no matter how shitty his mood is, he's not cruel. It is hard on Phil, and Bucky feels like an asshole for forgetting it sometimes. "What am I doing here?" Bucky asks, shoving away from the conference table. "I should be out there with them."

"We had a deal," Phil reminds him. "Training and therapy, and - "

"And?" Bucky snaps. "I've been doing them. I have bruises the shape of Natasha's boot on my ass, and I've been to the stupid group sessions two weeks in a row."

"Yes," Phil says calmly. "You've gone because someone physically led you to the car, all but kicking and screaming. It's not enough to just show up. It's a start, yes, and we all know that it's difficult, but you can't honestly tell me you feel like you've made real progress."

"Oh fuck you." Bucky kicks over his chair, and okay, maybe he's being a little childish, but what the hell? What do they all think is going to happen? It's not like he's going to have some big tearful revelation in front of a half-dozen strangers. "I'm out of here. Call me if something happens."

There's been radio silence for the last hour, which possibly explains part of Bucky's mood, because he wouldn't be worrying like this if he was _there_ , goddammit, and he can't take sitting in this room any longer. Phil will do just fine without him, like he had for years before Bucky came along. He stomps down the stairs, fuming. He makes it to the lobby before he even realizes where he's going (and damn, all that exercise must be paying off, because he practically sprinted down several dozen flights of stairs), and he lets out a strangled shout when he sees Happy parked at the curb, waiting for him.

"No," Bucky says, waving his arms dismissively. "I'm not going. Just take the night off or whatever." He picks a random direction to storm off in, but he only makes it a few steps before Happy is out of the car and jogging to catch up with him.

"No can do," Happy says. "I have orders from the boss _and_ Captain America; if I let you go and something happens, no one will ever find my body."

"I'm not great company right now," Bucky says through gritted teeth, "and I'd like to be left alone."

"Psh." Happy rolls his eyes.  "Do you know who I work for? You're like a little growly kitten compared to Mr. Stark in a bad mood."

"What is it with people calling me a kitten?" Bucky demands. "Nevermind. Are you going to try to force me into the car?"

Happy looks him up and down, considering. “Do I need to? I doubt it’ll end well for either of us.” Bucky clenches his fists, and Happy raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to do my job here.”

“Well I’m not Mr. Stark,” Bucky retorts. “I’m not your job; you don’t even know me. If he wants to be a dick about it, I’ll take the fallout, but I’m not in the mood for this bullshit right now.”

“Look,” Happy says, placating. “Why don’t we call Agent Coulson, and - ”

Happy reaches into his pocket, fumbling for his phone, and Bucky takes advantage of the momentary distraction to bolt. He zigzags through the rush hour traffic, ignoring the flood of angry honks, and he’s on the other side of the street and a half block away before Happy tries to follow him. Bucky loses him easily, and after a mile or so he slows to a jog, panting a bit and starting to feel guilty. He actually likes Happy, and he doesn’t want to get him in trouble, and now he’s been an asshole to two people this evening.

"Friggin' fantastic," he mutters. "Running away from your problems again; way to prove you're not a child." A woman passing him on the sidewalk gives him a wary look and scurries away, and he braces himself against a storefront, laughing a little crazily. The streets are loud and crowded, and he’s starting to feel a little detached from reality because there’s just too much sensory input, and fuck it, maybe he is crazy.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” a cheery voice says in his ear. He jumps, nearly clocking the speaker with his elbow, and is met with a soft laugh. “Sorry about that. Thought you’d see me coming.”

He squints at the person in confusion. She’s tiny, all bundled up in a ridiculous puffy coat with a riotously colorful scarf wrapped around her grey curls. He knows her, he’s sure of it. If he could just get his brain working again …

“Were you going to come inside?” she asks, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him through a doorway without giving him time to answer.

He finds himself inside the diner he’d gone to with Steve, and everything grinds into place. “Sandy?”

“That’s right.” She grins up at him, still pulling him along. She’s strong for such a little thing, and he snorts a little when he remembers calling her Natasha’s grandmother. “Imagine, a handsome thing like you remembering my name!” She deposits him in a booth, ignoring the half-dozen elderly patrons who are vying for her attention. “You’re in luck; it’s lasagna day. Let me go get you a piece before these old geezers eat it all.”

She leaves in a whirlwind of floral perfume, shedding her coat as she goes, and Bucky’s hit with a wave of intense longing. It’s not nostalgia, really, because he’d never had anything like this – his mother certainly hadn’t been the doting sort – but somehow her attention doesn’t chafe the way the coddling from the Avengers does.

He’s not sure how long he’s lost in thought before Sandy reappears, unloading a steaming tray as she shouts for someone named Eddie to hold down the fort. Bucky finds himself with a fork in his hand and a napkin in his lap without really registering it happening, and Sandy’s making herself comfortable across from him with an enormous mug of tea.

“Go on; eat it while it’s hot,” she insists. “Then you can tell me why I just rescued you from my sidewalk.” Bucky chokes on his bite and glares a little, and she just laughs merrily. “Where’s your young man?”

“He’s on a … ” Bucky glances around. Well, everyone in here knows who Steve is anyway. Might as well say it. “Mission.”

“Ah.” Sandy peers at him shrewdly. “And you’re not. Is it the arm?” She gestures with her mug, indicating the prosthetic, and Bucky laughs a little bitterly.

“Oh no, it’s not my body that’s the problem.” And shit, he hadn’t meant to say that. He shovels another bite in his mouth. It's damn good, and he makes an appreciative noise despite himself.

“Oh, honey.” Sandy reaches out to pat his free hand. “I’m sure they’re just looking out for you.”

“Well, I’m tired of it,” Bucky snaps. A few heads swivel to look at him, and he lowers his voice, flushing. “There’s nothing wrong with me that won’t go away on its own. I keep being practically abducted to these stupid therapy sessions, no matter how many times I say I’m never gonna talk.”

“Maybe so,” Sandy agrees, “but you’ll never know unless you give it a chance.” Bucky opens his mouth to argue, and she points at him. “Don’t bullshit me, boy. I can tell by the way you’re talkin’ that you haven’t given it a fair shake.”

Bucky blinks at her. Hearing this little old lady say ‘bullshit’ is even stranger than when Steve says it.

Sandy huffs in exasperation. “What you do think is going to happen? Admitting you have a problem isn’t going to suddenly make it real – it’s already real, and you’re trying to live in denial.”

“You know,” Bucky says, stabbing another forkful of lasagna, “you aren’t very nice for an old lady.”

Sandy laughs loudly, causing more heads to swivel. Bucky hunkers down over his plate. “That’s one of the few advantages of being old. You can get away with saying whatever you’re thinking. Now tell me the truth.”

“Fine, okay?” Bucky drops his fork before he can give in to the urge to throw it. “I went to the stupid group therapy twice and listened to other people talk about their damn problems, and it just made me feel worse. Like, it’s good to know all that ‘you’re not alone’ crap, I guess, but listening to all these sad stories is just depressing. And I can barely make myself talk about this stuff with my best friends; why does everyone think I want to do it in a group?”

“That’s fair,” Sandy says. “Group therapy isn’t for everyone. It’s not the best idea for a first treatment option, anyway, and I have a feeling you haven’t tried any one-on-one.”

“Uh,” Bucky says. He knows he’s gaping like a particularly stupid fish, but what?

“Did I forget to mention I used to be a psychologist?” Sandy asks innocently. She takes a demure sip of tea. “How silly of me.”

“You - what?” Bucky narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Is this why Steve brought me here?”

Sandy laughs. “Goodness, no. As far as he knows, I’m just an old woman who runs a diner. This place was my husband’s, and after he passed, I couldn’t stand sitting around at home, being retired. And you’d be surprised … everyone thinks bartenders play therapist, but it’s amazing what people will tell a little old lady who brings them food.”

“Christ,” Bucky mutters. “I’m surrounded by shrinks.”

“Lucky you.” Sandy grins, shark-like. “So let me see if I have this straight. Your friends and teammates are trying to look out for you, to make sure you don’t harm yourself or others by jumping back into action before you’re ready, and you resent it because you think you can take care of yourself?”

“ … yes,” Bucky grumbles. "When you put it like that, it makes me sound like an idiot."

"Not an idiot," Sandy says. She makes a complicated gesture toward the kitchen, and a moment later a man (Eddie, maybe?) appears, carrying an enormous slice of apple pie and two forks. "Eat your dessert."

Bucky complies, because he's no fool. Also, pie. "I hope you don't expect me to eat all of this. I am trying to get back in shape."

"Nope," Sandy answers. "Just half. Now, the way I see it, you need to sit your friends down and tell them the group thing isn't working for you, but that doesn't mean you aren't still going to get help." She points her fork at him. "And yes you are; don't argue with me. If I have to do it myself over baked goods, I will."

Bucky's already a quarter of the way through the pie, and he sighs despondently. He's going to have to do so much running. "Do you mean it?" He hates that his voice sounds so fragile, but he's already opened up to this woman more than anyone else he's met in his life.

"Of course," Sandy says, squeezing his hand. "I'd never turn away anyone who needed help, and I actually like you. Not to mention that you moping around has to be making Captain America sad, and I just can't stand for that."

Bucky barks out a laugh. He thinks, as he gets into a fork-battle with Sandy over the last chunk of apple, that despite everything, he might just be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. He's not sure where these crazy people keep coming from, all trying in their own ridiculous ways to help him, but maybe it's time to finally stop fighting and let them.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dusts off cobwebs* So ... I'm back. I won't bore you with details, but it's been a rough couple of months, mental health-wise, and even though I kept feeling horribly guilty for not doing any writing, I'm pretty sure I would've ended up killing off Sandy or something, with the mood I was in. I had a falling out with a friend who was completely unconcerned about my problems and convinced I was just being lazy/irresponsible, and it really put me off wanting to write warm and fuzzy relationship stuff. Obviously a little moodiness crept into the chapter anyway, but hopefully it's not so bad. The good news is that once I sat my ass down and actually started writing, my inspiration came back, and I promise the next chapter is less depressing.
> 
> Also, I decided to switch gears with the therapy thing, because no way am I ever going to be comfortable talking in front of a group of people about anything, never mind that kind of personal stuff, and the way I've been writing Bucky, I don't think he would be either. And it is true that some people just aren’t cut out for group therapy, for one reason or another. There’s pushing someone into getting help for their own good, but then there’s pushing someone into something that’s going to make them so uncomfortable that no amount of exposure is ever going to make it better. But don't worry, the Avengers have already gotten their claws into Sam, so it's not like we won't see him again.


	49. Chapter 49

It's three weeks, six sessions with Sandy, and half Bucky's body weight in pie later when he hears back from Sam. The Avengers – minus Tony, who'd broken some ribs on a previous mission and was spending his downtime alternating between hiding in the workshop and stomping around like a particularly pissy grizzly bear – have been gone for six days and Bucky's slowly going out of his mind. He's watching a rerun of Project Runway, griping halfheartedly to JARVIS about the idiocy of making a ballgown from newspaper, when he hears his phone ring in the distance. He all but sprints to the bedroom, and it'd be a little embarrassing if he wasn't so friggin' bored.

“Made it!” he half-shouts, which … really wasn't how he'd intended to answer the phone.

Sam laughs warmly. “Good to know.” There's a high-pitched scream in the background, and he sighs. “As you can hear, I have my sister's kids again, but if you think you can brave the little monsters, I've got some news for you.”

“Uh.” Bucky gives JARVIS (well, the ceiling) a _what the fuck_ look, and Christ, he really does need some human contact. “You want me to come over there?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, sounding distracted. “I've got a bunch of paperwork and – Isobel Wilson, if you put that in your mouth you can forget about going to the park later!”

“Are you sure it's safe?” Bucky asks, only partly joking. He's already pulling on his shoes, though, because God yes does he want to get out of the tower. “Do I need to bring riot gear?”

Sam snorts at him. “You live with Tony Stark and you're afraid of a couple preschoolers?”

Bucky squints at the bathroom mirror. He's only got, like, a three-day beard. He probably won't scare any children. “Is this a trick question? Because Tony isn't likely to get snot and vomit all over me. Unless he's been drinking. Or has a concussion again. Actually … ”

“You'll be fine,” Sam says. He's clearly laughing at Bucky, the asshole. “I'll text you the address. You can leave the tac vest at home, but if you want something to drink besides apple juice and beer, you'd better bring it yourself.”

When the cab drops him off in Harlem (because fuck public transportation, he's saving up all his nerve for the little demons), Bucky trudges up the three floors to Sam's apartment with a sense of impending doom. He's never spent any time around children, and he's of the opinion that they're cute at a distance but best left to experts, kinda like leopards or the duck-billed platypus.

Sam opens the door looking as calm as ever. “Hey, man,” he says, grinning like he hasn't just emerged from the fifth circle of hell. “Come on in. I've got some brochures and fliers mocked up to show you, and I've got a bunch of questions that we're probably gonna need Stark to help answer, but it's a start.”

Bucky steps inside cautiously. There's no sign of the children, except for two paper plates on the coffee table, littered with bitten-off sandwich crusts. Sam's place is tiny but cozy, decorated in rich browns and reds. “So you got approval for the clinical trials?”

“Yep.” Sam gathers up the trash and heads for the kitchen. “All the papers are on the dining table there. I called in a few favors.” He starts stacking the dishwasher with kid-sized cups and silverware. “Of course now there's a couple Congressmen who are gonna want their names attached to this, like it was all their idea, but” - he shrugs - “what can you do?”

Bucky hovers awkwardly, wondering if he should offer to help. “Favors, huh? Does that mean you saved their lives with your badass jetpack?”

Sam looks up in surprise. “You know about that? So much for classified. Well, I rescued one of them, yeah. The other has a son who was having a rough time after invaliding out of the Army, and … long story, but I guess he felt like he owed me.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Holy shit, man. You're the one who should be tagging along with superheroes.”

Sam laughs, but whatever he's about to say is drowned out by the arrival of a miniature tornado. A little girl with braided pigtails launches herself at Sam's knees, and he lifts her easily onto one hip. She's dressed in a leotard and tights, tea towel pinned to her back like a cape.

“Saaam, Bobby called me a loser, and I said I'm not a loser, I'm a superhero, and when I grow up Imma be just like Black Widow - ”

Bucky chokes on a laugh, and the girl's head swivels to pin him with a laser stare. She opens her mouth, and Bucky is cringing in anticipation (fuck, why didn't he wear a glove? She's probably going to freak over his robot hand.) when her twin barrels into the room.

“Nuh uh,” the boy says scathingly. “Loser.” 

Sam looks heavenward, like he's asking for patience, then gives Bobby a look that makes _Bucky_ want to retreat to the naughty corner. Bobby shrinks under the glare, ducking his head and scuffing his toes on the tile floor. Damn, Sam's good.

“Five minute time out,” Sam says, pointing to a tiny chair crammed into the corner. “You know you're not supposed to call people names. Now what do you say to your sister?”

“Sorry,” Bobby mutters resentfully, flinging himself into the chair with a huff.

Bucky covers his mouth to hide a smile, then freezes when the movement draws the girl's stare again.

“Who are you?” she asks. “My name's Isobel, but you can call me Izzy. I just turned five years old.” She holds up five fingers to demonstrate.

“Um. Bucky. I'm Bucky.” He shoots a helpless look at Sam, who just smirks at him, the bastard. “I'm a friend of your Uncle Sam's.”

“Huh.” Izzy escapes from Sam's hold and wraps tiny fingers around Bucky's wrist. “You should come play superhero with me. I'm the Black Widow, and you can be … “ She surveys him a moment, her eyes lingering on his silver hand. “Iron Man!”

Bucky gapes at her, open-mouthed, while Sam doubles over and dissolves into a fit of laughter.

“Yeah, Bucky, go play Iron Man,” Sam wheezes. “Paperwork can wait.”

“I … but … ” Bucky flounders, betrayed. “I thought we were friends!”

Sam sort of giggle-snorts, holding his side, and Bucky decides he's pretty much over his desire for human company.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still alive. :) I was stuck on this for so long, and then I went back and re-read the whole thing and suddenly I was making notes and going, wow, I've got a lot of plot threads hanging here. Part two of Bucky vs children coming soon - really, I promise - but I just wanted to get this out there.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://brownc0at.tumblr.com/)


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